


Turn of the Wheel

by Predec2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Drama, Eventual Romance, M/M, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-01-17 23:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12376473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predec2/pseuds/Predec2
Summary: Brian Kinney is a man of affluent means, wealthy beyond compare, and not wanting for any material thing. But he is emotionally empty. Will an unexpected visitor cause him to change? Historical drama set in the late 1800's.





	1. An Unexpected Bump in the Night

 

This is my first foray into writing something historical, so I hope you enjoy it. I will be updating it once a week. 

* * *

DISCLAIMER:  QAF and its characters are the sole property of Showtime and Cowlip Productions.  No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

_Two Weeks Before Christmas...Late 1800's...Pittsburgh_

 

The clip-clops of the horses' hooves were muffled by the snow that blanketed the muddy roads of the street; soft candlelight flickered in the storefronts nearby as the opulent brougham carriage - drawn by four, powerful, black stallions - carried its wealthy passenger back toward his home.

 

The lone man in the carriage was dressed impeccably in a charcoal gray, felt top hat, a black, wool frock coat, black puff tie, a white shirt with a high-stand collar, black cherry colored jacquard vest, striped gray-and-black trousers, and black, tie-up boots.  His look was polished off with a pearl tie-tack, and a silver pocket watch mounted to a matching colored chain anchored to the middle button of his vest.  After all, no matter what the occasion, Brian Kinney would never go out in public without being meticulously outfitted in the most luxurious apparel money could buy, and every piece of custom-tailored clothing fit him like a glove on his long, lean body. 

 

Pulling the pocket watch out of his vest pocket, he observed the time:  a little past nine p.m. He sighed.  As he had anticipated, the holiday dinner at the Templeton's had been a dreadful bore, spent exchanging civilities with businessmen he could barely tolerate, and women who fawned all over him, his well-known reputation as a wealthy, single, attractive man preceding him wherever he went, and making both men and women alike pursue him like a fox being tracked by baying hounds.  He could have brought home any one of the men or women who had expressed so much as an inkling of interest in him.  But truthfully, he had found no one attractive enough to even go through the motions to satisfy his sexual appetite; at least, no man, anyway. For unbeknownst to the blue blood society of Pittsburgh, he only found men attractive, and always had.  Women held no interest for him at all.  It was a fact he had known for years now.  Thanks to the money he had wisely invested over the years, however, whenever he couldn't find willing company to satisfy his urges, he could always purchase one for the right price.  No cheap hookups for him.  Everything for him was both understated and tasteful, whether it was his clothing or his tricks.  And in exchange for the gentleman's ‘discretion,' he was richly rewarded afterward. 

 

He gazed out the coach's window at the falling snow and the festive Christmas decorations, feeling nothing at all that would equate to any sort of holiday spirit.  Truthfully, thanks in large part to being placed in a private school out of the country during his childhood, he had never really felt any need to celebrate Christmas, nor did it fill him with any feeling of hope or encouragement.  The days of December were just another month on the calendar; one that he tolerated and breathed a sigh of relief about when they were gone and everyone went back to their daily, mundane lives afterward.  Shaking his head at the frequent, festive displays of the holiday glaring at him from both sides of the almost deserted street, he leaned back in the plush, velvet cushion and closed his eyes. 

 

His eyes flew back open several seconds later when he had to grab onto the side of the carriage to prevent himself from being tossed out of his seat as the vehicle hit something hard.  "What the fuck?" he growled, his breathing rapid and his heart pounding at the unexpected action.  "Reynolds!  What's going on?" he yelled to his driver of several years, opening the side door to peer out into the thickly falling snow, the brim of his hat fortunately keeping the fat flakes from falling into his eyes. 

 

"Sorry, Sir!" his driver called back to him as Brian watched him hurry over to the front ride side of the carriage and kneel down by the wheel.  "I didn't see him until it was too late, and he ran right out in front of me!" 

 

Brian frowned.  _Him?_   "What did you hit, Reynolds?  Some mongrel?"  There were way too many strays around the outskirts of Pittsburgh proper to suit him. 

 

The man stood up and faced him, his complexion ashen as he shook his head.  "No, Sir.  It appears to be a young man; a boy." 

 

"What!?"  Brian gasped as he slid his long legs out of his seat and walked over to join the driver.  As he stood next to him in the lights cast from the streetlamps along the road, all he could see was a curled up mass of dark cloth, except for what appeared to be light brown hair sticking out of the top.  "Is he...?" 

 

He watched as Reynolds reached down and felt against the boy's neck.  "No, Sir.  He's still breathing.  But I hit him pretty hard, so there could be some internal injuries, and he's shivering, no doubt from the cold.  I believe he needs urgent medical attention." 

 

Brian peered down at the huddled form beneath him, almost unrecognizable.  It was too hard to even tell it was a boy, but from the slim frame barely masked under the tatters he was wearing, his driver was evidently right.  He nudged the form with his foot, getting a muffled moan from the victim.  "Shit," he muttered.  He knew the driver was right; they couldn't just leave him out here. "Well, there's no doctor's office open right now."  It wasn't _his_ fault if the kid had decided for whatever reason to live on the streets, but his driver _had_ injured him.  He sighed.  "Very well.  Place him in the carriage, and we'll take him back to the house.  We can summon Dr. Weston."

 

The lanky, middle-aged man nodded.  "Yes, Sir."  Brian shook his head as he backed up enough to allow his driver to bend down and scoop the slim figure into his arms, wrinkling his nose as he got a whiff of the boy's smell.  Obviously this street urchin hadn't bathed in who knows how long.  "Great," he mumbled as he turned to head back to the carriage, waiting for his driver to place the semi-conscious boy across the opposite seat from him, choosing to place him prone across the length of it.  "May I borrow your blanket, Sir?" Reynolds asked his employer.

 

Brian waved his hand in silent agreement, thinking anything that might help disguise the smell would be a good thing; he could always have it burned later. God knows he had plenty back at the house.  "Yes, yes," he told him impatiently as he noticed the boy now shivering violently in his wet clothes.  He reached to grab the wool blanket folded neatly next to his seat and hand it to Reynolds, who tucked it around the small body.   "Haste, Reynolds," Brian urged his driver, beginning to be concerned that the boy may have some serious internal injuries; except for the one moan, he hadn't moved or said anything else.  In his station, he never had much contact with homeless, poor beggars from the street, but he didn't want to be responsible for one this young dying, either, through his driver's hand, directly or indirectly.  "I'll watch him," he answered the man's unspoken question as the other man nodded.  "Go."

 

"Yes, Sir." 

 

* * *

 

Dr. Weston pulled the tips of the stethoscope from his ears as he rose from the side of his patient's bed.  Tucking the covers back around the young man's unconscious form, he turned and quietly headed back downstairs, finding Brian sitting in one of the study's overstuffed chairs.  He placed his pipe down on the standing ashtray next to his chair and looked over at the doctor expectantly as he entered.

 

"Well, his vital signs are normal," the doctor reported as Brian nodded in relief.  "I can see some bruising around his torso - no doubt from the impact of the accident with your carriage - and he appears dehydrated to me," he commented.  "His ankle was injured fairly severely, but does not appear to be sprained or broken.  I think he'll make a full recovery, and I see no signs of concussion, so he should awaken in a few hours.  I think exhaustion may be more the cause for his unconsciousness, rather than his injuries. I would recommend bed rest and lots of fluids for the next couple of days, and soft foods; then he can eat some more substantial food once he's feeling better.  He could certainly stand some more meat on his bones."  The distinguished, older doctor shook his head sadly at the thought of the downtrodden, young man lying so listless underneath the wool blanket upstairs in one of Kinney's guestrooms.  He was probably at least 15 pounds underweight, and from his tattered, dirty appearance it was obvious he likely lived on the streets like so many others did, foraging for food and a place to live on a daily basis.

 

Brian sighed, sensing the answer before the doctor responded.  "And I'm assuming you mean bed rest _here_?" 

 

"Well, he really shouldn't be moved for at least a few weeks until the ankle heals fully...and you do have plenty of room, Sir," the doctor pointed out matter-of-factly.  Most other men wouldn't dare address Brian Kinney in such a direct manner; but having delivered the now wealthy man into the world as a newborn, the doctor knew Kinney was more bark than bite.   "And both of us know that he apparently has nowhere to go from the looks of him." 

 

Brian brushed the fingers of his right hand through his hair, realizing the man was right.  But why was it HIS responsibility?  "Look, he ran right out in front of our carriage..."  He let out a deep breath of resignation, knowing there was really no other option.  "A few _weeks?_ " 

 

The doctor nodded.  "Minimum of two, I would say.  It will probably take at least that long for him to bear weight and regain his strength again.  In the meantime, he should stay off that foot, and then use it gradually until it is back to normal."

 

Brian exhaled a deep breath before nodding.  "Okay, okay.  He can stay until he's a little stronger, and the ankle is healed. But I'm not running some Wayward Home for Boys here.  He'll need to go to an orphanage or something."  Silently, he had to agree with one thing:  as cold as it had been recently, even he couldn't just throw the boy back out into the streets with no home. But he wasn't staying HERE.  Not any longer than he needed to.

 

Dr. Weston opened his mouth to reply...but then stopped. It wasn't his place to tell his client what to do with the boy upstairs.  Besides, he knew Brian well enough by now to know that the man wasn't as insensitive and uncaring as he portrayed himself to be.  He could be a cynical and irascible man; but also, he suspected, he had been made that way by his preference for solitude.  Kinney had never married, and he never seemed to speak about family, or pleasurable matters, or hobbies; only his writing, which he did from home.  But he also had known him long enough to guess that the man wouldn't just throw this injured young man out on the streets, either. What he _would_ do with him, however, remained to be seen. There WAS one matter he needed to clarify, though.  "He can't go to an orphanage, I don't believe so, anyway," he told him.

 

 Brian frowned.  "No? Why not?  Isn't that their purpose? To take in children who have no place to go?" 

 

The older man smiled.  "Yes, that is correct.  Remember, I'm their physician on call there.  But their age limit is 16.  I believe after examining the patient that your guest is no ‘boy.'  A younger man, definitely.  But I would estimate him to be a little older than their age limit, though; perhaps 19 or 20."

 

That surprised Brian; he hadn't gotten a very good look at the small form huddled under the tattered clothing and woolen blanket, but he had naturally assumed he was younger.  _Interesting_.  He shrugged.  "Well, no matter.  I feel a certain obligation, since my driver hit him - even though he ran out in front of us - to see that he is tended to. But once he's healed, he'll be on his way. I don't handle charity cases." 

 

Weston sighed.  "I understand," he told Brian as he made ready to go.  "Please make sure he is fed as I instructed and kept warm.  Once his ankle heals in a few weeks and he can support his weight on it, then he should be able to be on his own.  I'll come back in a few days to check up on him.  If any sort of emergency arises in the meantime - he doesn't wake up soon, he develops a fever or swelling around his ankle, or complains of severe pain in his chest area - please have one of your staff summon me immediately.  I shall leave you with some medication to ease his pain should he need something." 

 

Brian nodded as he walked the doctor over to the study door, noticing his manservant, Bellows, standing in his typical white gloves and black uniform suit near the front entrance.  "Bellows will see you out. Thank you for coming at this late hour, Doctor.  I will settle all costs once our unexpected guest is healed."

 

Weston nodded, knowing Brian was a man of his word, and he would be paid quite handsomely for his services.  "You're welcome, Sir.  If you need anything else, or his condition worsens, let me know."  A whoosh of cold wind rushed through the heavy, wooden door as the doctor left, making Brian shiver as Bellows quickly closed the door behind him. 

 

"I'm retiring for the night, Bellows." 

 

The other man nodded.  "Very good, Sir.  I shall lock up, then. Have a good night." 

 

Brian nodded back at him.  "Oh, and instruct one of the wait staff to give our ragamuffin some clean clothes and provide a bath for him once he's awake," he added, not able to avoid crinkling his nose as he recalled the stench earlier.  He decided it was a combination of rotten garbage and sweat; a quite unpleasant odor.  If the boy, man, whatever he was, was going to be staying with them, at least he could be made more presentable.  "Find one of the male servants who is around the same size, and give him some of their clothes to dress him with."

 

Bellows nodded.  "As you wish, Sir.  It shall be taken care of with dispatch. Good Evening."

 

"Good Evening," Brian replied, as he grasped the smooth, curved top of the banister and proceeded upstairs.  His bedroom was located on the left-hand side, but he couldn't help making a turn down the other side to stop at the first bedroom on the right of the hallway, peering in at the stranger now lying in one of his guest room beds.  The lights had been dimmed to a soft glow as he quietly walked inside and stood at the side of the bed, hearing the young man softly snoring.  He could finally make out his face somewhat, noticing pale skin and long, shaggy, dirty-blond hair.  He had to agree with the doctor; beneath the smudged, dirty face, the boy did appear to be, in fact, a young man, or at least one on the verge of it.  Once he was more alert in the morning, he would question him further himself...after he had had a proper bath and clean clothes.  Most likely, the bedding would have to be thoroughly cleaned, too - or burned.  But the injured boy was in no shape for them to worry about that tonight.

 

Shaking his head over the unexpected circumstances, he turned and walked back out of the room toward his own bedroom, secure in the knowledge that his staff would watch over the house - and their unexpected guest - during his slumber.

 


	2. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin wakes up to an astonishing, new reality as we learn a bit more about his circumstances.

_Later that Evening..._

 

Justin felt like he was having the most wondrous dream.  It was so real, he could actually smell some sort of flower, and feel the plush softness of the imaginary bed he was lying on, and the feather cushion of the pillow in which his head was cradled.  And the heat; glorious warmth filled the room from the steam radiator nearby against the wall, where dawn was peeking through the tall, maroon, velvet curtains.  Directly at the foot of the bed was a fireplace, with an intricately carved, wooden mantel, and a tall mirror framed in brass.  A chandelier with sparkling crystals hung from the high ceiling.   It was opulent and grand.  He sighed; how he wished it were true, and not just another longed-for dream:  to be safe and warm again, just for one day. 

 

"Sir?" 

 

His eyes widened, and his heart thumped madly as he heard someone speaking. That was new; normally when he dreamed at night - often huddled in the corner of a doorway, trying to fight against the bitter cold winds of winter - he had never heard anyone actually _talking_ in any of his dreams; that is, when he was able to sleep.  He always had to be on guard, vigilant of someone who might take advantage of his vulnerability and harm him.  He had developed a sort of camaraderie with some of the others who roamed the streets, homeless for a variety of reasons, but one still could never completely trust those you met, no matter how sympathetic they may seem.  But this dream...this one was different.  He blinked, trying to determine if he was really dreaming, or if by some wild chance, it was real.  He swallowed and licked his lips, trying to moisten his parched throat, when almost by magic a tall man with a kindly, weathered face and crow's feet around his piercing blue eyes, appeared with a silver pitcher and a glass. 

 

Justin watched, astounded, as he observed the older man pour some water into the glass before setting the pitcher down on an oval serving tray sitting on a night table. He could actually HEAR the sound of the liquid being transferred.  "Can you raise your head a little? Here, drink this," he told him quietly as he extended the glass toward him.  _Surely this couldn't be real_ , Justin couldn't help thinking.   But he was so thirsty that he decided to take the chance as he reached out with his hand - and felt a shock ripple through him when his fingers closed around the smooth coolness of the container.  _My God.  It WAS real_ , he realized in astonishment, as he raised his head just enough to bring the glass to his lips and take a tentative sip as the man held the back of his head for support; that soon turned into gulps of the liquid as he thirstily drunk all the remaining water in record time.  Eyeing the man standing beside him, he sheepishly reached the now-empty glass toward him as the man placed it back on a silver tray nearby. 

 

"More, Sir?" the man asked him as Justin slowly shook his head and wearily dropped his head back onto the pillow, taking a sweeping gaze around the room. 

 

"How...?"  He suddenly groaned as he shifted in the bed to try and sit up to see more, and felt a lancing pain shoot up his left leg.  "My leg..."  It was then that he noticed his chest hurt like hell, too.  "What happened to me?" he cried out, his voice raspy with pain, and his eyes wild with anxiety.  "Where am I?" 

 

The man explained gently, "You were injured last evening by my employer's carriage, and brought here to his residence for recuperation." The man studied him; it was hard to tell the boy's age from his bedraggled, dirty appearance, but in the better light of early day he appeared to be perhaps in his late teens or early twenties; just as the doctor had surmised.  "You will need to rest your ankle and build up your strength for a few weeks before you are fully healed, but the doctor thinks you will make a full recovery." 

 

"Doctor?" Justin couldn't remember any of that. The last thing he remembered was searching through a metal barrel, scavenging for some food behind one of the more finer restaurants, and accidentally dropping a slightly bruised but still edible apple from the container.  He had watched in dismay as it had rolled out into the street, and without hesitation - unmindful of any traffic due to the quiet provided by the snow-covered street - he had darted out into the street to retrieve it.  After that, his mind was blank. But apparently, he must have been hit by this man's carriage, and hence had been taken to his house.  And a grand house it appeared to be, too, if this room was any indication. 

 

The older man nodded at him.  "Yes.  You're at the home of my employer, Mr. Kinney.  He had his personal physician come and examine you last night after you were accidentally hit by one of his carriage's wagon wheels and injured."

 

Justin didn't remember any of that, but it made sense. "So, you're a servant of Mr. Kinney's?" he asked, wincing as another pain shot through his torso as he struggled to sit up more in his bed.  He savored how soft it was...but felt deeply ashamed by how dirty he must be making the bedding by his very appearance. 

 

"Yes, my name is Vic," he told Justin softly, noticing the expression of pain on his wizened face.  "Here, let me help get you more comfortable."  He walked over to a nearby wardrobe to retrieve a couple more pillows before returning to the young man's side. Placing them against the headboard, he carefully assisted Justin in sitting up as he studied him again briefly.  Despite the boy's appearance, his eyes were a vivid shade of blue; no amount of dirt or soot could disguise the brilliance of those pupils; they shone through everything.  "One of the wait staff is bringing you up some different clothing," he told Justin.  "But first...I am to assist you with bathing." 

 

Justin gulped.  "Assist me with bathing?  Clothes?"  He suddenly felt like a fish out of water. This was NOT a place he was meant to be.  "No....no...I can't stay here," he told him, despite his body practically melting into the luxurious softness surrounding him, and the heat warming the room; two things he desperately craved, but didn't feel he deserved.  "My clothes..."  His eyes teared up as he told the man, "I don't belong here...I'll...just leave.  I don't need you to take care of me."  Even as he tried to sound confident as he said it, he couldn't prevent the moan that escaped his lips as another stab of pain assailed him.

 

Vic tsked, feeling sympathy for the young man, but impressed by his sense of dignity despite his circumstances.  "I'm sorry. But even if you wanted to leave, you are in no shape to do that right now."  He paused as the young man gazed around the room, still appearing bewildered.  "What is your name?" he asked him softly, trying to place him more at ease.

 

Justin looked up at the concerned-looking face; it was a face that bore the look of someone who had worked hard in his life, but it also was a wise-looking face.  He felt comfortable with this man for some reason as he replied, "Justin.  Justin Taylor." 

 

Vic nodded.  "Well, Master Taylor, your clothes will need to be cleaned.  So while they are being washed, I've procured some other clothes for you to use from someone else in Mr. Kinney's employ who is about   the same size as you.  But I was told to run a bath for you beforehand, so please remain as you are until it is ready.  Then I can help you to the tub."  The boy was so slim that Vic knew he could no doubt carry him, but he suspected this one might object to that, and prefer to merely be helped to the bathroom.  For someone who appeared to be so down on his luck, his pride was apparently still intact.

 

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Justin pleaded, "No, you don't have to do that!  Just help me out of bed, and I'll be on my way."  He looked around the neatly-arranged room.  "Where's my coat?  Tell them to bring my clothing back!  I don't need anyone's charity," he protested.  His so-called coat was mainly an oversized, tattered rag made of wool.  It never kept him completely warm, but it was all he had.  Secretly, he hated the idea of going back out into the bitter, windy cold that winter always brought to Pittsburgh, but his pride prevented him from staying where he obviously didn't belong. 

 

To his consternation, the older man shook his head firmly.  "Sorry, Master Taylor, but I have strict orders from my employer for you to get complete bedrest until your injuries are healed, since it was his driver who hit you, and he feels responsible.  Besides, there would be no way you could bear wait on your injured foot; at least, not according to the doctor.  You wouldn't want me to get into trouble with my employer for not minding his orders, would you?" he asked pointedly.

 

A pregnant pause followed before Justin finally shook his head.  "No," he whispered.  And truthfully, he was relishing this unexpected fortune of warmth and luxury; two things he hadn't experienced in a long time.  Never, actually; at least not to this degree.  Orphanages weren't known for either.  On the contrary, they were renowned for old buildings with drafty windows and threadbare covers on the tiny beds; hardly the lap of luxury, but better than the streets he had been forced to live on for the past couple of years; ever since he reached the age of sixteen and was considered an ‘adult,' capable of living on his own.  Only he had no resources for income.  He had survived the past two years on what little he could obtain from doing some odd jobs during the warm months for a dollar or so at a time, working for one of the shopkeepers who might find work for him outside their establishment.  No one wanted someone like him working inside, however.  "Okay," he finally responded with some reluctance. 

 

Vic smiled at him, pleased he had agreed.  Truthfully, he would have done whatever it took to keep their guest there during his recovery period; no one should be out in this cold, snowy weather, least of all a slim boy wearing tattered clothing that barely covered his body. And his shoes.  Last night, when the doctor had removed his shoes, Vic had gasped at the gaping holes on the bottom where they had been worn through.  It had been a wonder the boy had not gotten frostbite in addition to his injuries.  He knew there were some homeless men and women who wandered the streets restlessly during the day - vagrants, as the bluebloods called them - and found shelter where they could at night, using metal barrels to throw any combustible material into them to use for heat.  He had seen them, mainly in the poorer areas of town. But this had been the first time he had seen one up close, and so young.  To actually speak with someone so down on their luck only made it more personal.  "I'm glad you've agreed," he told his young charge.  He knew one of the maids had already been instructed to come into the bedroom while their visitor was bathing to completely strip the bed and replace the coverings with a new set of pillows, sheets, and blankets.  But there was no reason to make the young man feel embarrassed; he suspected he already felt that way from the look on his face.  "You just wait there while I run the bath.  It should only take a few minutes," he explained as Justin sighed at him and nodded, sinking his head back into the pillow as he closed his eyes.  The pain had been reduced presently to more of a constant, dull throbbing, but every movement - no matter how tiny - produced a sharp pinch of discomfort, so he opted to stay as still as he could. 

 

Five minutes later, the man returned to announce that the tub was ready for him. "We'll take this very slowly," he told him.  "I'll help you over to the bathroom, so you don't put any weight on your foot," he instructed.  "There's a bathrobe for when you are finished, but I'll have to help you out of the tub." 

 

"I don't need a bath," Justin insisted, although he knew he had to stink. And amidst all this luxury, he felt decidedly out of place and extremely dirty. 

 

"Nonsense," Vic gently chided him.  "You'll feel much better after you've had one.  And...I'll assist you.   There's nothing to be embarrassed about," he assured him.  "Please let me help you."  He felt sorry for this lost-looking young man.  God knows he had seen his share of tough times over the years, although not as an orphan.  But he _had_ been a sickly child, and had suffered through some serious illnesses, so he knew what it felt like to be in pain and feeling helpless.  "Please," he repeated.  "It'll be alright."

 

Justin stared at the man for a few moments before he finally nodded, deciding Vic was not going to give up until he agreed.  "Okay," he told him as he braced himself on his hands and slowly turned in the bed toward the edge, moaning as he did so.   "Ohhh...."   He felt like he had been not only hit by someone's carriage, but trampled by the horses as well.  "It hurts..." he hissed.

 

"Your chest?" Vic inquired, his brow creased with concern.  He had been told to monitor the boy for any signs of infection or increased discomfort; at this point, however, it was hard to tell.  The boy nodded at him as Vic decided the idea of walking with him over to the tub wasn't going to work.  Making an impromptu decision, then, he reached down and scooped the slim body up into his arms.  "This will be better," he told him as Justin opened his mouth to protest.  "We don't want you getting hurt even more," he told him firmly.  "Just until you take your bath, and return to the bed," he promised as Justin peered at him in dismay, embarrassed by how awful he must smell, and how much dirt and grime he must be transferring to the other man's clothing.  "Your clothes," he murmured.

 

"They can be washed," Vic told him gently, his heart going out to this lost young man.  He was glad he had kept the bathroom door open as he approached with his fragile cargo; as he neared the clawfoot tub, he slowly lowered Justin onto the toilet seat to sit.  "I'll help you with your clothing, and then help you into the tub." 

 

Justin was in awe of the ornateness of the room, and the fact that this home had indoor plumbing.  This truly had to belong to a wealthy resident to afford such rarities.  "I can undress myself," he told the other man, his face reddening.  He had never undressed in front of another man before, and it made him feel extremely nervous.  But he realized in his condition, there was no way he could remove his shirt and pants without the other man's help. 

 

"No, you cannot," Vic told him evenly.  "You are one stubborn lad," he told him with a half-smile of respect.  "But you can't do this alone. Now stop being so obstinate before the water gets cold, and let's get those rags off." 

 

Justin glared at him - somehow offended that he would call his clothing ‘rags,' even though it was the truth - before he sighed heavily, realizing the other man was not backing down.  He could tell by the determined look on his face that this was one battle he was not going to win.  He nodded, then, as Vic proceeded to help him remove his clothing to prepare him for his bath.

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Justin was wearing clean clothing that had been left in the adjacent bedroom where Vic had retrieved them while he bathed, and he was back in his bed; only this time, the bed had been completely stripped and redone.  It was easy to tell merely by how clean the bedding looked, and how fresh it smelled.  Lying back in bed after Vic had mixed some sort of powder in a glass of water for him to drink to dull his pain, he let out a soft, relieved sound.  The pain had been a constant ache the entire time he had been in the tub, but he had still enjoyed the experience immensely.  He couldn't recall the last time he had even washed his face or hands; much less his entire body.  He had never even been IN an actual bathtub before.  He had once used water basins to clean himself, but the chance to lie in a pool of warm water as Vic washed his hair and skin had been amazing.  He had been very self-conscious at first, but as Vic regaled him with stories of his duties here at the residence, he found himself relaxing under his gentle demeanor. 

 

Vic had considerately handed him the washcloth to wash his genitals himself, and afterward had quickly helped him dress as soon as he had lifted him from the tub, draping a thick towel over the lower part of his body, both for modesty's sake and to keep him warm, while he helped him slide on a long-sleeved sleep shirt to wear and then a pair of soft, cotton pants borrowed from the young servant who handled the master's horses.  He smiled in amusement as the young man blushed at him as the towel dropped to the floor.  "Don't worry, young Justin.  I may window shop and admire beauty when it's there...but I won't touch."  He couldn't help noticing now that Justin was clean and dressed in unsoiled clothes just how beautiful a young man he was.  The difference was astounding.  His eyes, which had caught his attention immediately, seem to shine even brighter in the soft glow of the lighting sconces, and his skin was now a healthy shade of pale pink.  And his hair.  His fairly long, shaggy hair was now the color of golden wheat under a sunlit sky.  He tried hard not to make his young charge feel self-conscious as he helped him bathe, but it was unavoidable not to notice the astonishing transformation.  All he could think of was that if his master caught sight of this former dirty, stinky creature from the street _now_ , he might not be so apt to turn him back out into the bitter cold.   

 

"Are you warm enough?" Vic asked his charge.  "I can turn the heat up if you're cold."

 

Justin shook his head at him, letting out a contented sigh.  "No...it feels wonderful." 

 

His companion smiled.  "I'm glad.  Is your pain better as well?"

 

"As long as I don't move," was the wry response.

 

Vic couldn't help grinning over the young man's reply.  "That's good...as long as you aren't a sleepwalker, you should be fine, then."  Justin grinned at him and shook his head as Vic turned the light sconce on the wall down to a dim glow.  As he walked over to a nearby velvet stuffed chair, he heard Justin speak again.

 

"Have you had any sleep?"

 

Vic turned around to say, "I promised my employer to watch after you."  He pulled a bed coverlet from the back of the chair and sat down.  "I'll be fine," he assured him.  "Try to get some more sleep, okay?"

 

Justin nodded, knowing he couldn't change the older man's mind.  He seemed devoted to whomever his employer was.  He wondered what this Mr. Kinney was like.  But the medicine must have had a sedative effect as well as being an analgesic, because he could feel himself succumbing to his weariness.  Closing his eyes, he luxuriated in the incredible feeling of being cocooned within the soft bedding, and was soon fast asleep once more.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope there aren't a lot of mistakes in this chapter. I wanted to get this posted, and did not have as much of a chance to review it as I would have liked, so please overlook any errors. Vic's 'employer' will meet their guest and speak with him for the first time in the next chapter.;) 
> 
> Thank you for reading. Next part will be up soon. :)


	3. Two Sides of a Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian finally meets his unexpected visitor. What will be his opinion of him?

Footsteps out in the nearby hallway alerted Vic to someone approaching; he had a strong suspicion who it would be.  His master always had been both a restless sleeper and an early riser. Rising to his feet quietly and avoiding the parts of the oak floor that he knew creaked, he trod over to the door and slowly opened it.  Sure enough, it was his employer standing there.

 

Vic placed his index finger against his lips to indicate Justin was still asleep as he slowly closed the door behind him, not wanting to disturb the young man's slumber. 

 

Brian asked, "How is he?"  He glanced toward the door as if he could see through it, but, of course, he couldn't.

 

"He's resting peacefully right now," Vic reported.  "I gave him some of the powder the doctor had prescribed, and that seemed to soothe him.  He's been asleep for some time.  I thought it was best we speak out here, so he can continue his recuperation, and I thought I'd have a tray sent up for him in about an hour.  He'll need nourishment as well as rest if he is to recover fully.  He's very thin." 

 

Brian nodded a little impatiently.  "Yes, yes, I heard the doctor's spiel," he reminded his servant.  "Obviously, scrounging around in metal barrels and eating pigswill isn't prone to making one fat."

 

Vic nodded back at him sadly.  "Yes.  He is way too skinny.  He needs to put some meat on his bones," he affirmed, before he seemed to hesitate.

 

"What?" Brian probed, knowing his servant was never one to mince words. Vic had been with him for a long time, and both men knew each other well. He also trusted him implicitly.

 

"It's nothing..." Vic began.  But under Brian's pointed stare he confessed, "I know the doctor estimated he should be able to leave within a few weeks, but he needs more than just medical attention.  I think he should stay here until he has gained some weight back.  Out in that cold, he wouldn't stand a chance in the condition he's in now, even once his leg heals."  Lately, the winter winds had been cold and bitter, with temperatures frequently falling into the teens at night.  He shook his head.  "It's a wonder he's survived this long without frostbite...or worse."

 

Brian huffed.  "I don't run a wayward home for orphans," he groused.  "It's not MY fault that he's some street kid, down on his luck.  You can instruct Cook when the time comes that she may provide him with a sack of food to help sustain him for a few days.  And he can keep the clothes he was loaned; I'm sure we have some cloak lying around, too, and some boots.  Give him that." 

 

Vic shook his head stubbornly.  "Sir, you know you can well afford to keep this young man - who was injured through no fault of his own - a few weeks more, just to help him get back on his feet.  You know as well as I do that right now a lot of the townsfolk are down on their luck.  Wouldn't it be a kindness to simply allow him sufficient time to heal not only his body, but perhaps a little of his soul as well?  Who knows what sort of adversity he has experienced - or how long he has been on his own?" 

 

Brian peered at him in bemusement.  "Are you becoming a priest on me now, Vic?  If Father Owens ever becomes ill, you can substitute for him."  Brian wasn't sure he believed in all the bullshit the Father espoused on the few times he had met him on social occasions, but at the moment Vic might be an excellent replacement for him.

 

Vic harrumphed as he lowered his voice a little bit more so as not to disturb his young charge.  "First of all, this has nothing to do with religion.  You may see this unfortunate incident as tending to a charity case, but I'm telling you:  he needs to get some nourishment into his body, and it won't hurt for you to accommodate his physical and emotional needs for a few weeks longer than it takes for his physical injury to heal.  You don't even have to see him during that time if you so choose," Vic pointed out.  "If that is your wish, I can see that you are not disturbed.  He can remain up here in his room, or down in the guest study once he's more mobile. Surely even you can admit that what little food and shelter we provide for him will in no way affect your substantial wealth, and that there is more than sufficient room here for him to be virtually nonexistent to you during his stay.  I can tend to him personally without shirking my other duties." 

 

Brian shook his head as he held his hands up in acquiescence.  "Very well," he agreed as Vic smiled back at him in relief.  "But keep him out of my way...understood?  And he eats with the wait staff, and only after I am finished. Keep him out of my sight; I have a lot of work to do, you know."   

 

Vic nodded.  "I understand, Sir.  I shall see that your instructions are followed." 

 

Brian acknowledged that vow with a nod as he peered over at the closed door.  "Did you speak in any detail with him?" 

 

"A little, Sir.  Mainly when I was helping him to the bath, and after he was dressed and back in bed.  Our conversation was mainly focused on how he was feeling.  Oh, and I found out his name. Justin, Sir.  Justin Taylor."

 

Brian digested that bit of information as Vic added with a smile, "And I also discovered that he can be quite stubborn...and also proud." 

 

Brian crooked one eyebrow upward as he asked, "How so?" 

 

"He was...uncomfortable with my assisting him with undressing for his bath, for one thing, insisting he could do it himself when he knew that was impossible.  And he did not want to stay the night.  I had to shame him into feeling guilty about my getting into trouble with you for disobeying your orders to get him to agree.  But I am convinced he would have left in the rags he arrived in if I hadn't pressed the issue...if he'd been able to, that is." 

 

Brian scoffed.  "He wouldn't have even gotten of the room," he declared, just a hint of begrudging respect in his voice.

 

Vic agreed.  "No, it wouldn't have; not on his own.  But something told me he would have tried."  He arched his back and let out a soft groan then, trying to work out some of the kinks in his back; it was a movement that did not go unnoticed by his employer. 

 

"You slept in that red velour chair all night, didn't you?" Brian stated.  Vic averted his eyes, giving him all the answer he needed.  "Vic, I didn't expect you to watch over him all night in that damn chair!  You could have had one of the other servants look in on him from time to time, you know.  Go get some rest, and I'll have someone else take care of having some breakfast brought up to him." 

 

Vic had to fight hard to keep a serious look on his face.  He strongly suspected he knew exactly who would be bringing the young man's breakfast up to him.  "Well..."

 

"Vic..."

 

The older man nodded.  "Very well, Sir.  If you insist."

 

"I do," Brian firmly replied.  "Now go get some sleep.  I'll see that his needs are met."

 

Vic's mouth pressed together firmly before he spoke again. "Brian..." He rarely used his old friend's first name out of respect for their positions, but when he did, Brian always knew it was something important he felt he had to say. 

 

But before he could proceed further, Brian held up his hand to stop him.  "It was just an expression, my friend."  He scoffed.  "He's just a kid."

 

Vic silently considered that comment before answering with a shake of his head, "No, Brian. He's NOT a kid. He's a beautiful young man.  And I think he must be very resilient to have gone through what he has to have experienced out on the street.  But he's also vulnerable.  Besides, you don't know anything..."

 

"Yeah, yeah," Brian interrupted him.  "I haven't even met him, and I don't know anything about him; at least who he is underneath all that grime he was covered with."  He grimaced in indignation.  "I'm not in the habit of taking someone unwillingly, Vic.  I don't _need_ to."  While homosexuality was scorned and hidden underneath the fine families of Pittsburgh, Brian had no problems finding eager partners to satisfy his itch.  Why would he need some man-child to accommodate him, then? 

 

Vic peered over at him abashed.  "I wasn't presuming that," he hastened to reply.  He sighed as he threaded his fingers through his thick, salt-and-pepper hair.  "I know you're an honorable man."  He nodded.  "Well...I shall be retiring for a while, then.  But if you need anything..."

 

Brian smiled at him.  "I think I can handle it.  I have more than enough help.  Now go," he said gruffly, the affection apparent in his voice.  Vic nodded, briefly clamping his hand on the younger man's shoulder and giving it a squeeze before he turned and headed toward the staircase to the lower level where the servant's quarters were situated in the rear of the home.  "Oh, and Vic?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"Don't forget to tell Cook to prepare a meal for him when you head downstairs," Brian advised.  "I'll be down shortly to pick it up." 

 

Vic studied his old friend for a moment - having never recalled his young employer ever handling a meal tray in his life.  "As you wish," he told him as Brian gave a brief nod of his head.  As he began his descent down to the main floor, he couldn't prevent the grin from breaking out upon his face.  _Knew it_ , he silently thought.   

 

* * *

_A few minutes later..._

 

The robust, red-haired woman who had been Brian's cook for several years brushed some sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.  She removed some freshly-baked bread from the cast-iron stove, grasping the tray with two thick towels to place the loaf on the top surface.  Turning as she heard footsteps approaching, she placed one hand on her hip as she faced her employer.  "Who is this ‘guest' we're feeding?" she asked without preamble.  Her master had never bothered to feed one of his previous ‘guests' before.  He occasionally would permit them to stay overnight when he had imbibed in way too much liquor, but at first light each man was perfunctorily given the boot, never to return.

 

Brian rolled his eyes. "He's not a ‘guest.'  He's some street kid my driver decided to run over last night with my carriage.  Ran out in front of us, and fell under the wheel."

 

Debbie's expression instantly changed to one of horror.  "A kid?  Was he hurt?" 

 

Brian snorted.  "What do you think?  Of _course,_ he was hurt!  And now the doc says he can't leave until he's able to walk - which won't be for at least a couple of weeks.  So, Deb, if you don't mind?  Breakfast?"  Like Vic, Brian's cook - Vic's sister - had been with him for years, so the official titles were frequently cast aside in deference to a more familiar style.

 

She huffed as she turned and cut a thick slice of the bread to place it on a small serving dish, next to a larger one consisting of ham, eggs, and jam.  Grabbing a glass of orange juice, she set it all down upon an oval, silver platter next to the elegant cutlery.  "You're taking it up to him yourself?" she inquired, her eyes narrowed.   

 

"Just give me the tray... _please_ ," Brian bristled, emphasizing the last work with scorn.  _What was it with all his servants lately questioning his every move?_

 

"Make sure he eats," she told him.  "If he's a homeless child, I'm sure he's severely malnourished, and it was YOUR carriage that hit him, so you're responsible to see that he heals properly."

 

"Yes, Mother," Brian replied with a quirk of his mouth as Debbie smacked him on the arm.  He grinned back at her good-naturedly as he grasped the tray in his hands and turned to head toward the steps.  It was time he got better acquainted with this ‘kid' who had suddenly appeared in his life so unexpectedly. 

 

* * *

 

Carrying the tray upstairs, Brian hesitated for a moment at the slightly ajar bedroom door, using his elbow to slowly swing it open.  He quietly placed the oval serving tray down on a nearby table before turning to glance over at the bed where its occupant was still sleeping.  He was lying on his back, his rosy-colored lips slightly parted as he slept, with his longish bangs resting on his forehead, partially obscuring his eyelids.  The coverlet was draped up to his chest, and was tucked around him like a cocoon.

 

Brian softly tread closer as he stared intently at his now clean and freshly dressed visitor, his eyes refusing to believe what he was seeing. This could not be the same ragamuffin his carriage had hit last night.  Instead of a dingy, shivering heap with dirty hair and clothes, the man sleeping unawares of his open gawking was - it was the only word that came to mind - beautiful.  Bright, golden hair that hung into his eyes and rested at the nape of his neck, smooth, creamy-colored skin, plump lips, a strong jaw, and long lashes that hid the color of his eyes that were presently closed.  Brian found himself wondering just what color those eyes were, and what the young man's body looked like below the covers that were now partially concealing his slim frame.

 

Finding himself mesmerized, Brian crept even closer to the bed to get a better look; he was so focused on his task that he inadvertently stepped on one of the creaky boards Vic had previously avoided, causing the young man's eyes to fly open in alarm.  

 

Brian watched his vibrant, blue eyes frantically sweep around the room as he if were trying to orient himself before he quietly reassured him, "it's okay," causing the man to turn his head to the side to peer over at him. Brian's heart skipped a beat as they made eye contact.  Up close and with more time to study him, he knew while this person was young, he was NO kid.  And he was even more incredible-looking than he had first thought.  The blue of his eyes complimented the golden, shining hair perfectly; he swallowed as the blond's tongue peeked out to moisten his lips before he croaked out, "Who...who _are_ you?" 

 

Brian leaned closer and stared into the inquisitive face for a moment before replying, "I'm the master of this house. And the owner of the carriage that hit you last night.  You DO remember, _that_ , right?" 

 

"My entire body aches, and I can't bear wait on my foot.  Yes, I think I remember it well," was the dry response as Justin coughed, causing him to wince in pain. "But I'll be gone as soon as possible.  I don't want to intrude." 

 

"Intruding would be sneaking into my house to steal something.  This was a little less intentional. You certainly caught my attention, though.  And managed to secure room in one of my sleeping quarters to boot; at least for a couple of weeks."  His eyes swept over what he could see, noting a tint of pink creeping into the young man's cheeks over his intense scrutiny. 

 

"Yes, I ran out in front of your carriage for just that reason," Justin replied, playing along.  "I thought the direct approach was best." He sighed; how he wish could stay here in this luxury forever.  "But don't worry; I'll be out of your hair as soon as I can.  I have some trash heaps to check out behind Independence Avenue where all the finer eating establishment are.  I imagine you've been one of their patrons, in fact, so you must know them well.  They have the best beef bones to gnaw on.  Helps me to clean my teeth, too." 

 

Brian couldn't help laughing over the other man's response.  "You're one cheeky, little shit, aren't you?"  he replied, amused by the young man's audacity.  "What's your name?" Vic had already told him, but he wanted to make sure he received the same answer.  Perhaps this stranger was trying to hide his true identity.

 

"Why do you need to know?"  Justin replied warily.  "Are you going to report me?"

 

Brian snorted.  "For what?  For being foolish? You didn't break my carriage, or injure my horse, although you startled the hell out of me when my driver hit you.  Just answer the question.  Is that so hard?  Or do you have amnesia in addition to your physical injuries?"  This one had spunk, and for some reason he found it refreshing.  After a while, he grew weary of all the " _Yes, Sirs_ ," and " _As You Wish, Sirs_."  Having your needs met by servants at your beck and call could sometimes be so...boring. 

 

Justin supposed after all the hospitality this man had provided to him, a decent response was the least he could supply.  "Justin," he replied.  "Justin Taylor."  He paused.  "And what's _your_ name in addition to ‘Lord and Master' of the house?"   

 

Brian chuckled over his new ‘title,' satisfied that at least his unexpected guest was telling the truth regarding his real name.  He supposed two could play that game.  "Brian Kinney...among other titles." 

 

Justin had to grin at that, but his thoughts were preoccupied elsewhere.  He couldn't help smelling the delicious aroma wafting through the room as he turned his head to try and ascertain where it was coming from.  As if sensing his thoughts, Brian turned and walked over to the table where the tray sat to retrieve it. "You think you can eat?" he asked him, noticing how intently the other man's eyes lit up at the thought.  "You'll have to sit up to do so, though; I don't DO hand feeding."  Although the idea seemed to make his blood stir just a bit as he thought about those abundant lips enveloping his fingers.  He had to concentrate hard not to continue along that vein as he held the tray in his hands toward Justin for his inspection. 

 

Justin was famished; he had been scavenging for food when he had made the mistake of crossing the ice-laden street without looking to see the carriage that hit him; that had been yesterday evening.  He couldn't actually remember WHAT he had eaten yesterday...or if he had even eaten at all.  One day blurred into another anymore.  He didn't want to appear too desperate, however, so he managed to reply calmly with a simple nod of his head.  His body, however, refused to cooperate as he tried to use his hands to pull himself up further toward the headboard to sit up; a sharp stab of pain shot through his body as he let out a loud groan.

 

Brian placed the tray down at the foot of the bed.  "You can't do that!" he reproached him.

 

"You _told_ me to!  Remember, you said you didn't DO hand feeding!"  he retorted, wincing as another, painful twitch assailed him.

 

Brian sighed wearily.  "Just let me help you sit up, okay?"  _Stubborn, too..._ "You DO know how to use a fork and knife, right?" 

 

Justin harrumphed.  "Yes, but I had to pawn my good silver a while back. It was weighing my sack down."  He immediately regretted his sharp retort as his benefactor glared back at him, his lips pressed tightly together in irritation.   This was not the way he had been taught to act.  But that had also been a long time ago.   "I guess I sound ungrateful," he admitted ruefully, wincing again as he struggled to shift his position by bracing himself with his elbows; every simple movement elicited another stab of pain.  "I do appreciate what you've done for me."  He paused.  "You could have just let me stay out there in the cold." 

 

Brian leaned over him, his face just inches apart from Justin's as their eyes locked; both men could swear the other could hear their heart pounding furiously inside their chests when Brian silently grasped Justin gingerly by the left arm and shoulder to help him scoot up further until he was sitting up in bed.  A pillow quickly appeared behind his head as Brian snatched an extra one lying beside him and placed it there, just before Justin's head came to rest against the wall.  Brian leaned back slightly as he stared into the expressive, blue eyes peering up at him before clearing his throat.  "There...now you can eat properly."  He turned his back to retrieve the tray, grateful for a few moments to compose himself.  _What the fuck was happening to him?_ He wondered.  "I may be an unfeeling son of a bitch, but even _I_ don't leave someone out on the street to die of hypothermia."

 

Placing the tray down on Justin's thighs, he watched as the young man picked up the fork and, after a nod of encouragement from Brian, used a knife to cut off a piece of the tender ham to place it in his mouth.  "Hmm...." he couldn't help moaning in appreciation over the succulent meat as he savored the taste.  It had been so long since he had eaten ‘normal' food that he had almost forgotten what it was like to eat fresh, unspoiled meat. To him, that first bite tasted like nirvana.  Swallowing the first piece, he went to work on the eggs next, followed by the warm, homemade bread. As Brian sat back down and watched him from one of the velour chairs, Justin proceeded to finish his entire meal with dispatch.

 

Brian noticed that despite the young man being a street urchin, he obviously had been taught proper table manners at some point, observing him deftly using the knife and fork before picking up his napkin to dab it against his lips and placing it down onto the tray, finishing his meal with a last swig of orange juice until the entire tray was empty. 

 

"That...that was wonderful," Justin raved.  He smiled brilliantly over at his benefactor in gratitude.  "Thank you." 

 

Brian was taken aback by the dazzling smile he received; the entire boy's face lit up when he did, making him even more stunning.  Vic had obviously used a chew stick and gel paste to help his ‘guest' clean his teeth after he had bathed. His ability to speak was suppressed for a moment before he replied, "Uh...you're welcome," as he walked over to retrieve the tray and place it back down on the nearby serving table.  Sitting back down, he proceeded to tell Justin what the doctor had advised him about his injuries, and how he would probably be immobile for at least a couple of weeks.

 

Justin's mouth hung open.  "A couple of WEEKS?"  He looked around the warm, spacious, luxurious room, feeling decidedly out of place.  "I can't stay here!" 

 

Brian smirked.  _Yes, proud AND stubborn_.  "Why not?  Do you have a pressing engagement, or better accommodations?" 

 

Justin huffed. "Yeah...I have a standing date with the shelter on 53rd Street."  It was one of the few places he could go where he could get out of the cold, and get a hot meal...that is, when they had the room. Every time it got dangerously cold, everyone in line jostled for position, and being slim in stature, he was easily shoved aside; so often that he sometimes literally found himself forced to seek whatever alcove he could find to help ward off the stiff winds that often accompanied the bone-chilling temperatures. 

 

Brian thought as much.  "Well, I promised the doc you would stay here until you were able to bear weight on that foot...and I always keep my word. So, like it or not, you're stuck here."  He smirked.  "But I'll have Vic send his regrets to the shelter if you wish." 

 

For the first time, Brian heard Justin laugh, and he was captivated.  Accompanied with that dazzling smile again, he was fascinated.  He cleared his throat, uncomfortable for some reason by the way this young man made him feel.  "Then, it's settled," he told him. "You will stay here in my residence until you are able to be independent again."  He watched as Justin scrunched up his nose as if he had bitten into something distasteful.  "What?" 

 

"I _hate_ depending upon someone else," he admitted, his voice rough as he seemed to square his shoulders and rise a little further up in the bed. 

 

"Sometimes you have to," Brian responded curtly.  "And in YOUR case, you have no choice, so get used to it...Justin." 

 

The use of his first name engendered a strange feeling in Justin's chest as he sighed, able to ascertain by the determined look on his benefactor's face that he wouldn't budge in his declaration.  "Very well," he told him.  "But if I have to stay in this fucking bed for the next two weeks, I'll go stark raving _mad_!" 

 

It was Brian's turn to laugh now as he told him, "Well, I can understand that, I guess.  I'll have one of the wait staff bring you up some entertainment to pass the time."

 

That piqued Justin's interest.  "What sort of entertainment?" 

 

Brian shrugged.  "We have plenty of games and books for you to read.  Chess, backgammon, draughts.  I'd have one of them bring you a yo-yo, but somehow I think that might stunt your recuperation when you hit yourself in the head with it."  He hid a smile over the affronted look on Justin's face.  "What sort of books do you like?  You CAN read, can't you?" he asked as the thought came to him that perhaps he couldn't. 

 

Justin's face reddened.  "Yes, of course I can read!  But I haven't read a book in so long..."  He used to love to read books when he was younger, along with creating artistic things, and playing the piano. But that seemed so long ago...when he had a family.  "Anything," he finally told him.  He sighed again.  "Do I have to stay in this bed the whole time?" 

 

Brian pondered that.  "I suppose I could ask the doc if he has a wheelchair he could lend you," he concluded.  "Then, at least you could sit up and move around the room." 

 

Justin's eyes lit up; it wasn't quite the independence he craved, but it was much better than lying prone in a bed for the next two weeks, being waited on hand and foot as he stared at the ceiling.  Although, he had to admit, the bed was like heaven compared to his normal accommodations.  "I don't want you to go to a lot of trouble..."

 

Brian snorted.  "Nonsense. It's a petty thing.  I'll have one secured for you sometime today, and have one of my servants bring it up to you. Vic can help you from the bed to the chair."  He glanced over at the small, round table set up near the tall windows that always let in abundant light in the mornings.  "You can sit over by the window.  There's a view of the street from there." 

 

Justin nodded gratefully.  "I don't know how I will ever be able to thank you for all you're doing."  He looked down, ashamed.  "You know I can never pay you back for all these expenses." 

 

"Don't need it," Brian told him flatly as Justin peered back up to look at him.  "I have more money than I will ever be able to spend in my lifetime." 

 

Justin wrinkled his brow in curiosity.  "What do you do for a living?  If...I may ask?"

 

"I'm a writer." 

 

"A writer of what?"

 

Brian shrugged "Many things. Whatever suits my fancy.  Novels, mainly. Poetry. Occasionally opinion pieces.  Just depends upon my whim." 

 

Justin's eyes grew large.  "Have you met other writers and poets, like Whitman or Tennyson?" 

 

Brian was surprised by the question; for someone who lived on the street, this young man seemed well-versed in things he would have never surmised he knew about.  "As a matter of fact, I have.  Oscar Wilde, too, when he visits from Britain.  Strange sort of chap, by the way. Him...along with a lot of other well-known poets and writers.  After a while, you all mingle within the same circle, so you tend to encounter the same people at these boring, blueblood functions.  It's inevitable."

 

Justin gaped at him in astonishment, enraptured by simply the thought of being up close and personal with so many famous writers.  "Boring?  I can't imagine being bored in the company of such talented people."  His pain temporarily forgotten, his eyes stared back at Brian eagerly as he asked, "What do you all talk about?  Your work?  Current events?  The arts?" 

 

Brian scoffed. "Mainly they just stand around drinking their ale and regaling everyone with their exploits regarding women who fawn over them - or the latest literary award they've won. Pitiful, really, when you think about it. Either you have the skills and the talent, or you don't. There's no need to brag about it."  He paused.  "In fact, I had been coming from just such an event when you decided to become too closely acquainted with my carriage."  He paused.  "Just why DID you run out into the street?" 

 

Justin's face flushed; he was embarrassed to admit the reason why, but felt he shouldn't lie.  "I was looking for food, and found an apple behind the produce market. They throw out the bruised ones. It got away from me, and rolled out into the street.  I ran after it, and didn't hear your carriage until it was too late." 

 

Brian couldn't believe someone would risk their life for an apple.  "Just for one, lousy apple?  You'd risk your fucking life for that?" 

 

Justin bristled.  "If YOU were dumped out onto the streets to live with nowhere to go, and no food or shelter to get out of the cold, you would grasp at whatever you could get, too!  Including the garbage people like you would never get your hands dirty with, much less eat!"  He looked away, humiliated.  "I don't have that luxury, though."  His eyes strayed to the windows overlooking the street, a place and time long ago in his mind's eye.  "Once I lived a lot differently than I do now."  He turned to look over at his companion, who studied him silently.  "But now...now I do whatever I have to do to survive.  It's either that...or die.  Simple as that."  He jutted his jaw outward as he proclaimed, "And I'm not quite ready for that just yet.  Call me an idiot or a fool.  But I have to hope that there will be better things for me...someday." 

 

Brian nodded at him; he didn't know what to think of this enigmatic, young man.  But he knew he wanted to know more.  He rose to his feet as Justin peered up at him curiously.  "Well.  I'll take this tray back down to my cook, and work on getting that wheelchair delivered."  He picked up the oval platter - now completely devoid of food and drink - and turned to go.  But just as he went to open the door, he turned back around to ask, "So, do you know how to play chess, Justin Taylor?" 

 

Justin smiled.  "As a matter of fact, I do.  Quite well, in fact." 

 

Brian grinned back at him.  "We'll soon find out," he told him as he turned to go.

 

 


	4. History Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Justin begins to recover from his injuries, Brian discovers even more pain hidden on the inside.

"Bellows!" Brian called out as the head of his household emerged from the servants' quarters, having just finished his own breakfast before assuming his duties for the day.  Bellows had only been with him for a few years, but the fastidious man had come highly recommended by an old friend of his uncle's, and had proven to be an efficient manager of his staff. The only one who did not directly answer to the tall, lanky man was Vic, who reported directly to him.  It was a fact for which the other man secretly resented. But he was also wise enough not to voice that aloud, for his employer compensated him generously for his servitude, and not for his opinion.

 

The man arched an eyebrow at his employer in question.  As always, his black-and-white uniform was crisply pressed - without any wrinkles or blemishes - and his freshly-washed hair was combed neatly across his head without a follicle out of place.  Brian thought it was rather ridiculous for the man to wear those damn white gloves of his with his uniform like he always did, but the man insisted it was the only way to ensure all the housekeepers kept his home dust free and spotless.  Brian did appreciate order, and while he wasn't particularly fond of Bellows, he had to admire the way the man kept his home so neat and meticulous. It helped promote a calm environment; something he preferred when he was working. "Sir?" 

 

"Have Reynolds contact Dr. Weston and arrange to have a wheelchair delivered here without haste," Brian commanded his subordinate. 

 

"A wheelchair, Sir?" 

 

"Yes, yes, a wheelchair!"  Brian hated it when he had to repeat himself, as if the other person couldn't understand a simple request.  "And when he gets back, have Reynolds carry it up to the maroon guest bedroom.  Have him tell the doctor that I will settle my bill with him forthright."  Brian knew the doctor was well aware he would be handsomely paid once Justin was fully recovered, and his services were no longer needed.  He wondered how long that might be; the doctor had said two weeks, but truth be told, Vic was right. Their young guest was much too slight for his frame, and could need some additional time if only to get his strength back.  He paused, noticing Bellows still standing there as if he were waiting for further instructions.  "Well?  Do I have to repeat myself again?" 

 

Bellows shook his head curtly as he replied, "No, I will see that it is arranged. Will there be anything else, Sir?"  _The man could be rather demanding at times_ , Bellows thought to himself.  Generous with his salary, but biting with his words.  He DID find it peculiar that his employer was going to such lengths with a street urchin.  But he also grudgingly acknowledged that Kinney was an honorable man, and would see that the child - whatever state he was in when he had been carried inside yesterday evening - was taken care of before he was cast back outside.  His thoughts were interrupted when his employer spoke up again.

 

"No, that will be all. But I would like to be informed when the chair is delivered."  He had no intention of carrying that... _thing_...up the stairs himself, though.  Or spending all day entertaining their ‘guest.'  His and Justin's conversation earlier had somehow unnerved him.  He had never engaged in small talk with residents of his home; not THAT sort of conversation, anyway.  What had gotten into him? Telling a complete stranger things he normally would never tell anyone else?  Besides, he couldn't babysit the man all day long. He had servants to see to the man's needs. Vic, in particular, seemed to have taken a genuine liking to him, so he knew his old friend would keep a close watch on him.  And he did not get compensated by his publisher for doing nothing, although he wrote mainly out of pleasure rather than any monetary need. 

 

"Yes, Sir." 

 

He watched as his servant nodded in understanding before - with a sigh - he headed toward his study.   

 

* * *

 

A couple of hours later, Brian threw his Waterman fountain pen down in disgust on his well-loved, wooden desk, raking his fingers through his hair as he heavily exhaled in frustration.  He had only managed to write a few pages for his current novel, his thoughts unexpectedly preoccupied with their current house guest.  He would try to concentrate on his writing, only to find his mind straying back to the blond-haired stranger residing in the Maroon Room down the hall.  He had heard some distinctive banging and scuffling about an hour go, no doubt from Reynolds struggling to carry the wheelchair he had ordered up the steps to their visitor's room.  Since then, however, all had been quiet except for Mary, one of the waitstaff, knocking on his door a few minutes ago to carry in his daily cup of tea and scones on a silver, oval platter.  But even that comforting ritual - which often relaxed him and spurred him to dig into his current project with even greater earnest - had failed to motivate him this time. 

 

Because now there was a distinct, unusual presence in the house, whether he was trying to ignore it (or, in this case, _him)_ or not.  And the mystery surrounding that presence continued to intrigue him.  One did not get to be a renowned writer without possessing a great deal of curiosity about his world, and Brian was no exception.   The young man he had initially viewed as mainly a nuisance and an inconvenience was now a puzzle to him; one that he found both annoying and fascinating. The young man who had come into his life so unexpectedly, and now filled him with so many questions, was totally oblivious to the dilemma in which the home's master presently found himself.

 

He frowned as he heard laughter filtering down the hallway.  Rolling back from his desk, he rose to his feet and walked toward his study door.  As he opened it, he could better ascertain where the mirth was originating, and as he suspected, it was coming from his visitor's room.  He could make out Vic's voice clearly amidst the conversation, as well as Justin's.  His feet seemed to have a mind of their own as he walked out into the hallway and approached the room at the end, the door halfway ajar.  As he neared the room, he quietly opened it wider to observe both men sitting at the tall windows overlooking the street below - Vic in his favorite, velour chair, and Justin in the wooden wheelchair that he had obtained from the doctor. A thick coverlet was tucked around his slim body - no doubt Vic's mothering, he presumed - as the young man gazed down at the wintry scene below, accentuated by some freshly-fallen snow during the night.  Brian couldn't help smiling slightly at the look of child-like wonder on his face.  Even though the scene was all too familiar to him by now, only the most jaded of humans would have a hard time not appreciating the beauty of the streetscape displayed below from warm comfort of his home.  The many shopkeepers' window displays, decorated horses and carriages, and constant bustle of people going to who-knows-where could entertain someone for hours.  And from the look of enchantment on Justin's face, he felt that the blond would be more than willing to remain where he was for some time to come.

 

Just then, Vic peered over to notice him standing there.  "Sir?  Taking a break from your writing?"

 

Justin turned to peer at the door, the intense gaze Brian bestowing on him causing the young man to blush as he averted his eyes back to the street below.   He found his benefactor to be quite attractive; almost in a dangerous way.  But it made his heart race every time the debonair man peered at him so intently.  Even now, when he was evidently planning on staying at home to work, he was dressed and groomed immaculately, his dark hair closely surrounding the nape of his neck.  The slightly stubbled appearance on his face, Justin surmised, must be by choice, since a man his means would definitely be capable of a smooth shave.  He thought it make the man look even more striking.

 

"I guess you could say that," Brian admitted to his old friend as Vic nodded, dancing his eyes back and forth between the two men.  "I wasn't feeling particularly inspired, and I heard the two of you speaking, so... I just wanted to make sure the wheelchair had been delivered."  Of course, he already knew that from what he had heard earlier, but neither man was aware of that.   He cocked his head slightly at Justin as he asked, "How are you feeling?" 

 

"Better," Justin told him, but Brian noticed him wincing as he shifted slightly in the chair.  "I'm...very grateful for the chair.  I'm glad to be able to sit up, and get out of bed."  He recalled a time a few years ago when he had lived in similar surroundings, albeit not nearly as luxurious. But it seemed more like a lifetime now.  All the comfortable accommodations he was currently being afforded - not to mention the bounteous and delicious food that the owner's cook insisted on lavishing upon him - was definitely something he was not accustomed to anymore. But it brought back some pleasant memories of his past, and for that - however brief a time it might be - he would be forever thankful. 

 

Brian nodded.  "Well, your recovery will take some time," he reminded him as Justin nodded back at him.  "Make sure that he takes his medication as the doctor instructed," he told Vic.  He cleared his throat.  "Well, then...if you don't need anything at the moment, I'll be getting back to my work."  He turned to go, only to have Vic stop him.

 

"Brian?  Would you possibly have an extra journal you aren't using, and some extra graphite pencils?" 

 

Brian frowned.  "I usually keep an extra one in my desk drawer, and I suppose I could find some sort of writing utensil.  Why?"  He noticed Justin open his mouth as if he wanted to say something, only to stop when Vic held up his hand.

 

"I found out that our young guest here likes to draw, so I thought it might serve as a good pastime for him while he recuperates," Vic explained.

 

Brian's brow lifted in surprise as he shrugged.  "Very well; I'll locate the extra book, and some drawing instruments if you wish to come and get them," he told Vic.  "I've spent enough time away from my task; I'd best get back to my writing."  He turned to leave, only to be stopped once more; this time, my Justin speaking.

 

 "Uh...Mr. Kinney?"

 

Brian turned around again to gaze at Justin, once more taken aback by the difference in his appearance. He still found it hard to believe that it was the same person as the one his carriage had hit.  "Yes?" 

 

Justin paused before he explained, "You mentioned something earlier about playing chess." 

 

Brian's lips twitched.  "Yes, I remember that.  I also recall that you proclaimed to be quite proficient at it."   

 

Justin grinned, pleased that the man had remembered.  He had remembered _all_ of their conversation distinctly.  "Yes, I am. At least...I used to be."  His face clouded over slightly as he realized it had been a few years at least since he had played chess.  Perhaps he wasn't as good at it as he thought he was.  But just the thought of proving it - and spending more time with Mr. Kinney - made him hope that he would have that chance.  "I realize you must be very busy..." 

 

"Oh, no, Mr. Taylor," Brian responded with a smirk.  "I will make the time. I never back down from a challenge.  Part of the benefit of working for yourself is that you can establish your own schedule."  He shifted his gaze to Vic, who was obviously amused.  "Vic, please have one of the wait staff bring up my chess set here to Justin's room.  I have a reputation to uphold." 

 

Vic grinned.  "Now, Sir?"  He asked innocently. He knew the answer, though, before Brian even replied.

 

"Yes, of _course_ now!  And for fuck's sake, please bring the teak and ivory one, not that cheap model that Lady Wetherington bestowed upon me as a ‘token of her affection' during last year's Christmas fiasco."  He grimaced at the recollection. It had been yet again one of those boorish affairs during the holidays last year, when Lucy Wetherington had tried to ingratiate herself into his life by presenting him with an obviously poorly-crafted chess set, apparently thinking it would make him drag her upstairs into one of her bedrooms, throw her down onto the bed, and rip off all her clothing as a thank you. He had grudgingly accepted her gift - not wanting to focus any more attention on it than necessary among the aristocratic crowd that was surrounding them - and had offered her a polite thank you, but nothing else before he made a hasty retreat back to his home.   Even now, he thought he could still smell the woman's liberally-applied perfume that made him want to gag, and her snorting, high-pitched, squealing laughter that erupted from her as she tried in vain to flirt with him. 

 

Vic grinned.  "As you wish, Sir.  I will only be a moment. Would you care to wait here with Master Taylor while I retrieve it?  In case he should need anything, of course," he explained, trying hard to not laugh at the scowl on Brian's face.  He was so easy to read...at least for _him_.  And he suspected that soon, this young visitor who was so articulate and intelligent would be able to do the same. 

 

"Yes, of course," Brian parroted with a smirk.  He made a dismissive motion with his hand as Vic rose to his feet, walking over to grab the wooden play table sitting in the corner of the room.  It was the perfect size in which to place the chess set.  He moved to place it between Justin's wheelchair and the chair Vic had just vacated, which he was planning on using for his own benefit.  Glancing over expectantly at his older friend, he lifted his right eyebrow.  "Well?  Time's wasting, and I have a challenge to win." 

 

Vic smiled knowingly.  "I'll be right back," the older man replied as he turned to leave the room. 

 

* * *

 

_An Hour Later...Justin's Room_

 

"Checkmate," Justin crowed as he flashed Brian what seemed to be a cocky smile, making a show of picking up his black, marble king and holding it toward his adversary for inspection before he placed it back down on the game table.

 

Brian stared over at his competitor in stunned disbelief.  This...this _person_ who had appeared practically out of nowhere had NOT been kidding.  He had beaten him at chess three out of the last four games, and in prompt fashion, too.  Brian was extremely competitive, and he did NOT like to lose.  And for someone who less than 24 hours ago was running the streets in tatters with nothing to eat or nowhere to sleep, Justin's brain seemed to be functioning perfectly.  He was sharp as a tack at strategy, and had made some moves he never would have even considered.  He shook his head.  "Wow," he murmured sheepishly, knowing he had been beaten fair and square.  "Where in the hell did you learn to play chess like that?" 

 

It was as if a cloud had descended upon his opponent's face as Justin's smile dimmed slowly until it was completely extinguished.  "My father taught me when I was little," he explained softly, his voice filled with regret. 

 

"Your father?" Brian pressed.

 

Justin nodded.  "Yes."  He smiled back at Brian wistfully in recollection.  "He was very good at it, and he taught me so well that he used to kid me he had taught me TOO well; that he should have held back some moves just in case for future wins...only there wasn't going to _be_ any future."  Justin swallowed hard, blinking back tears that threatened to fall.  He brushed his eyes briefly with the back of his sleep shirt and shook his head.  "That was before..."  His voice trailed off, his voice overcome with emotion. 

 

"Before what?"  Brian couldn't help pressing.  He didn't want to pry, but Justin had eluded to his past before, and seemed to want to talk about it.  "I mean...if you want to tell me, that is..."

 

He waited several moments before the younger man finally nodded.  "I think I owe you that much," he decided, but Brian shook his head.

 

"Justin, you don't ‘owe' me anything.  If you think this is some kind of quid pro quo for helping you out after you were injured...Do you know what that means?" he asked, and just as he figured, Justin nodded his head.  "If you don't want to discuss it, then we'll drop it.  But I admit I _am_ curious."  Vic had left soon after the two of them had begun their matches, advising Brian he needed to attend to other matters regarding the household and leaving them alone. 

 

"No...I know that.  But I _want_ to talk about it. For so long, no one seemed interested in what happened.  I mean, there were so many without parents..." 

 

Brian started.  "Parents?"  You lost both of them?" 

 

Justin nodded. 

 

"How?" he asked softly. 

 

Justin bit his lower lip briefly before he took a deep breath.  "It happened when I was fourteen.  Molly - that was my sister - and I lived with our parents down on Bechtold Street.  It wasn't nearly as fancy as _this_ place. But we were comfortable.  And happy.  Molly and I both attended private schools, and didn't really want for anything."  He smiled again sadly.  "Our parents spoiled us, in fact.  Don't misunderstand; we didn't have anything like what you have. But we had what we needed, and we were receiving a good education.  And we had the most important thing of all: love."  Life had seemed so uncomplicated back then, so...predictable, but in a good way, he thought silently.  How fast that had changed.

 

Brian leaned back and stared into Justin's eyes as the young man continued, watching his brow furrow in distress.  "But then...then came the disease."  He closed his eyes tightly shut before opening them again.  "Cholera.  That morning, both of them had seemed just fine. Then...within 24 hours they were both dead."  He pressed his lips tightly together to try and stem the flow of tears that began to trickle down his face freely now as he wiped them again with his sleeve, feeling both embarrassed and weak.  He shook his head and took a deep breath before continuing.  "It happened so fast.  I'll never understand how Molly and I didn't get it, too."  His eyes glistened with tears at the remembrance.  "My God, it was awful.  I had never seen anything like that before, and I hope I never do again." 

 

Brian gaped at him in horror.  "Oh, shit.  I never would have guessed.  I'm sorry, Justin."  And he meant it; he, too, knew some others personally who had been unable to avoid that horrid, fast-moving epidemic that had occurred a few years ago, and it had been responsible for hundreds of deaths in the greater Pittsburgh area.  One of his own staff members - along with his entire family - had been affected by the disease, and over the next few days each person had died until no one was left, including his employee.  He had wound up quietly paying for all their funeral expenses, since there was literally no one left to even help bury them.  Otherwise, they would have wound up in a pauper's grave as so many others had.  He frowned, almost afraid to ask the question.  "You said you had a sister." 

 

Justin nodded, the thought of his younger sibling bringing him fresh grief.  "Yes," he responded hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion.

 

"But you said she survived the cholera?" 

 

Again, Justin nodded. 

 

Brian didn't know why, but a feeling of dread washed over him as he asked softly, "So...what happened to her?" 

 

Justin took a deep breath to steady himself for a few moments before he divulged bitterly, "Since we had no living relatives when my parents died, we were both sent to one of the orphanages.  Not too long afterward, someone requested a young girl to adopt for housekeeping who looked like the rest of their family.  Someone with blue eyes and reddish-blond hair who could help with the womanly chores, as they so quaintly put it."   His tone harsh, he continued, "Neither one of us knew what was happening until the headmistress called her down to the office to tell her she was going away on the orphan train to be adopted by them. They tried to make it sound like a good thing - that she would have a new home - but...oh, _God_!"  He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes as if it could shut out the memory, but he knew it wouldn't.  He opened his eyes back up to see Brian eying him intently, a flash of what he thought was sympathy showing on his face.  "I can still hear her wailing and calling my name as they dragged her away.  Unbeknownst to them, I had followed them down the stairs from a distance, and stopped just outside the office while she talked to Molly about it.  They had to hold me back to keep me from grabbing her and taking her away from them.  I would have gone anywhere, and done anything, to keep her with me.  I would have gone WITH her if necessary...just to keep us together.  But they didn't need ME.  Only her."  He whimpered briefly as he thought back about how helpless he had felt.  "I can see her face right now.  Full of anguish as she cried out for me to help her and held her out hand out toward mine.  But there was nothing I could do.  I never saw or heard from Molly again, and no one would tell me where she went.  I have no idea what happened to her after that."  A veil of sadness enshrouded him as he added, "I can only hope that whoever wound up with her is treating her well...and giving her the love that she deserves."  His internal suffering - and feeling of guilt for not taking care of her - far surpassed any physical pain he was feeling presently.

 

Brian was stunned into silence for several moments.  He had been an only child - hence, the substantial estate he had inherited when both of his parents died - so he couldn't truly understand everything that Justin had been through.  But anyone could see the distress written clearly on his face.  "And you?" he whispered, leaning closer to his companion.  "How did you wind up out there?  Out on the streets?" 

 

Justin barked out a bitter laugh.  "Being where you are, I imagine you don't know how an orphanage works.  Once you're eighteen, they've fulfilled their ‘moral obligation' to take you in when you have no one else to turn to.  They gave me some clothes and a couple of dollars...and wished me luck.  I barely made it out the door without being pushed out." 

 

Brian couldn't believe it.  "No, I didn't know," he admitted.  "How long ago was that?" 

 

Justin felt his back beginning to ache from having sat up too long in the wheelchair; the time he had spent with Brian had been such a pleasant diversion that he had lost all track of time, and was just now realizing how stiff his body was becoming.  "I don't know...two, three years?  When you're on the streets - just fighting to stay alive - you don't carry a watch with you, or even care what time it is."  He groaned then as he shifted in his chair. 

 

Brian quickly decided that his other questions would have to wait; it had been thoughtless of him to forget about his Justin's injuries.  "You're in pain," he declared, knowing he didn't need to state the obvious.  "Why didn't you tell me before?"

 

"I...I didn't notice it before," Justin responded truthfully.  "I was concentrating on our chess games."  _And you_ , the thought reared itself without warning.  He would have needed to be blinded as part of his present injuries not to have noticed how handsome Brian Kinney was.  But what would a man of Kinney's means want with someone like HIM?  And what made him even think he would want a man for company, anyway?  Sometimes, though, when he looked at him or spoke to him in a certain way, he couldn't help but wonder if his benefactor, too, was feeling the same sort of emotions. 

 

Brian looked away briefly; he couldn't peer into those expressive, blue eyes without fear of revealing too much.  This young man frightened him.  After all the blue-blood events and parties that he had attended; after all the arrogant and affluent women (and men) of all sizes and shapes who had openly solicited his favor - whether political or sexual - this...this mere wisp of a man (and barely one at that) scared the shit out of him.  He didn't know why.  He couldn't _understand_ why.  But he knew he did, and - feeling vulnerable suddenly - he decided it was time to separate himself from the situation. After all, he reasoned, he still had a lot of writing to do.   

 

"You over exerted yourself," he told his companion.  "I should have realized that.  It's time for you to rest."  He began to pick up the heavy chess pieces from the gameboard, and place them into the slots provided on either side of the table to hold them.   "Where is your medicine the doctor left for you?  You need to take some more." 

 

But Justin stubbornly shook his head.  "I'll help you clean up," he offered as he reached out from his wheelchair to mimic Brian's actions, his hand brushing unexpectedly against the brunet's as they both reached for the same game piece.  Justin gasped almost inaudibly as he felt the warm flesh come into contact with his, and for just a brief second, he wanted to reach out and grasp those long, elegant fingers.  But he drew back quickly as if he had been stung, and hurriedly reached for a couple of ivory pawns.  As he placed them carefully back into their storage space, his eyes lifted to meet Brian's, causing his face to become heated.  _What must the man be thinking of him?_ He had generously agreed to allow him to recuperate here in his home after his injuries, and now he was telling him his down-luck story about what had happened to his family. 

 

Brian cleared his throat.  "It's all right; I don't _need_ the help," he told him firmly, his voice a little harsh.  "Let it go.  Vic can finish up with this."  He rose to stand behind Justin's chair, unable to avoid noticing how the blond's golden hair brushed softly against the nape of his neck.  The sleep shirt he had been wearing revealed just enough pale, smooth skin to make him want to run his fingers through that hair and caress the sides of Justin's neck.  But instead, he tightly gripped the handles of the chair to push Justin back away from the game table, and turn him toward the bed.

 

"But...I..."  Justin found himself struggling to create excuses; anything to prolong their time together, despite Brian being correct.  "Just one more round..."

 

"NO, Justin," Brian responded curtly, making the blond slightly bristle at the connotation that he was some child being scolded by his superior.  "You've had enough."  He rolled Justin closer to the bed before applying the brake with his foot.  "Now back into bed for you.  I must return to work.  I'll have Vic come and help you with whatever else you need." 

 

Justin sighed as he peered up into the determined expression on Brian's face.  "All right.  I know I've taken up a lot of your time, Mr. Kinney..."

 

"Brian." 

 

Justin blushed despite himself.  He moistened his lips with his tongue, not sure if he could get his voice to even work, before he acceded to the other man's request.  "Brian," he replied softly at last.  He moved to brace himself with his hands on either side of the chair to rise to his feet, only to feel Brian's hands on his shoulders, holding him down.  He felt like his skin was burning through the thin fabric of the sleep shirt. 

 

"Are you out of your fucking mind?  You ARE one stubborn son of a bitch.  Hold on."  Brian walked around the chair to stand in front of the blond, extending his hands down toward him.  "I'll pull you up," he explained, "and DON'T put weight on that foot!" 

 

Justin let out an exasperated huff, but complied as he reached for Brian's hands; the moments his host's long fingers connected with his, it was as if he felt an electrifying jolt pass through him.  This time, he thought he heard Brian's sharp intake of breath as he was carefully pulled to his feet.  He took special care not to place any weight on his injured ankle as Brian softly commanded, "Hold onto my shoulders."  Brian managed to kick the chair away - far enough so Justin could navigate onto the bed - as he slowly pushed him down.  "Sit," he commanded sternly.

 

"Ruff!" Justin barked suddenly, curling his lips under as he sat on the edge of the bed, his slim legs dangling over the edge like a little child.  He gazed playfully up at Brian now as the older man rolled his eyes.  "Ow!" he exclaimed abruptly, wincing as his injured ankle grazed against the wooden platform of the bedframe.  He heard Brian huff as he stared up at him sheepishly.

 

"That's what you get for being so disobedient."  He shook his head.  "You know, if you weren't injured at least indirectly by my hand, I'd make sure you get a dog biscuit for breakfast tomorrow!" he vowed, pretending to glare at him, but he was unable to keep the slight smile off his face as Justin bestowed a mock look of horror upon him.  He sighed.  "Come on; let's lower you down onto the bed.  _Carefully_.  Take my hand." 

 

Justin reached to grip Brian's hand in his as he slowly turned in the bed to sit, his legs stretched out in front of him. Brian reached with his free hand to hurriedly place one of the pillows in its proper place by the headboard before he helped Justin lower himself to lie prone on the mattress. 

 

Brian could hear the blond hiss slightly before exhaling a deep breath of relief, the pain still etched clearly on face.  "See?  I told you that you overdid it," he gently scolded him.  Justin's bright, blue eyes gazed up at him as Brian felt his heart make some sort of skipped beat he had never felt before.  Sighing, he reached to cover Justin with the richly-woven textile to make sure he was warm enough before turning to reach for the glass of water, medicinal powder, and a spoon lying nearby.  Opening up the amber-colored bottle, he dipped the spoon inside to retrieve a teaspoon of the substance before stirring it in the glass, the spoon making a distinctive, clanging sound as he did so.

 

"Here...take this," he commanded as he sat on the edge of the bed, feeling another odd flutter again as his hand brushed against Justin's when the blond reached to grip the glass.  "ALL of it." 

 

This time, he didn't receive nary a smile or objection as the pain began to seep into Justin's bones more deeply.  Taking a breath, he gulped the bland liquid down his throat - unaware of Brian's reaction as he watched Justin swallow all of it.  Afterward, he reached the glass out to Brian, who inexplicably had become silent.  "Brian?" 

 

Brian shook himself out of his daydreaming as he concentrated on the pain-filled, raspy voice.  "Yes?" 

 

"I...I think I _will_ sleep for a while now."

 

Brian nodded.  "Good idea," he agreed softly.

 

Justin closed his eyes before he murmured, "I need to regain some...some more strength...to beat you at chess again." 

 

Brian lightly chuckled.  "We'll see about that," he countered.  Slowly he rose from the bed, standing by his guest's side for several moments and watching the now slow-and regular fall of Justin's chest, before he finally turned and headed toward the bedroom door, missing Vic hastily retreating to his own room to hide behind his slightly-open door after covertly observing the two men together.  Smiling, he nodded before closing his own door behind him.   

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian discovers yet something else unique about his complex visitor.

 

_Later that Evening - Justin's Room..._

Vic smiled in bemusement as Justin polished off every morsel of his evening meal.  Despite the enormous plate of food that Debbie had produced ‘to put some meat back on the poor child's bones,' as she had stated it, Justin had eaten every bite of it, including some homemade gingerbread men - one of Debbie's specialties.  Dabbing his mouth with his linen napkin - a festive green and red holly design - Justin placed it down next to the plate on the tray and sighed.  "That was even better than lunch," he declared with an appreciative smile.  "I wish I could thank the cook in person." 

 

Vic laughed.  "Be careful what you wish for, Master Justin.  Debbie - that's her name - has been dying to meet you, and if she happens to come up here - which wouldn't surprise me in the least - she's liable to injure you even more with one of her bear hugs.  Genteel is not in her vocabulary.  Don't get me wrong," he added hastily as Justin peered over at him curiously, "she has a heart of gold.  But let's just say that if she enters the room, you will know it.  And you won't forget it." 

 

Justin chuckled.  "You make her sound larger than life." 

 

"That's an apt description of her," Vic confirmed.  "Something tells me you will meet her soon.  In the meantime, make sure you get all the rest you can.  You'll need it to survive her visit."  Both men laughed then as Vic glanced over at the leather journal and pencils that Brian had given him earlier in the day for Justin to use to pass the time while he recuperated.  "You've been drawing?" he asked the young man.

 

Justin smiled brightly in response as his entire face lit up with pleasure.  "Yes! Please tell Mr. Ki...uh, ...Brian thank you!  I have made good use of them."  And he had.  He had literally sat by the large, expansive windows most of the day in between rest periods, gazing down at the everchanging scene of bustling pedestrians, women bundled up in their scarves, coats, and muffs, and men wearing their top hats and long, winter coats as they hurried to tasks unknown.  He had watched as some pedestrians - women and sometimes children, mainly - would periodically stop to gaze into one of the store windows to admire something, or as a merchant occasionally came out to sweep snow off the sidewalk in front of his shop.  He had been captivated by every little movement he had seen, and had found his hand drawing furiously in an attempt to capture it all. 

 

Vic smiled in delight; both at the use of his employer's first name by their guest, and by the look of sheer joy on Justin's face as he spoke about the sketching.  It was obvious he had a great passion for it.  "I'm glad," he replied.  He gazed over at the journal with intrigue.  "I would love to see some of what you drew," he told Justin, innately curious about what he had produced, but too polite not to ask permission first.  

 

"Well...they're not all that great," Justin stalled.  "I mean, mainly just doodles, or crude sketches of people.  It's been a long time since I've drawn anything," he explained.  At the orphanage, even if he could find a scrap of paper to use, he seldom had any sort of drawing instrument to take advantage of it. He had resorted back then to tracing imaginary pictures with his fingertips, seeing them in his mind's eye on the paper.  Through doing that, he had developed a keen sense for detail and memorization, which he had used today, long after his subjects had disappeared from sight below.    

 

Vic nodded in understanding.  "Well, I would very much enjoy seeing them anyway...if that's okay with you. I can play a mean hand of poker...but I can't even draw an apple.  I've always envied those who could, though." 

 

Justin hesitated for a few moments before he reached over next to his wheelchair and retrieved the sketchbook.  He bit his lower lip as he silently handed it over to Vic.  He observed the other man slowly turning the pages to study each drawing, until at last his companion stopped at a particular sketch where a marker ribbon had been placed, and peered over at him, a look of wonder on his face.

 

He shook his head in stunned disbelief. "My God, Justin.  These...these are _masterpieces_!  I had no idea you were this talented!"  He looked down at the drawing currently before him:  it was a sketch of his employer, dressed in his favorite, long wool coat and brimmed top hat, his leather-gloved hand holding onto the side of the carriage as he waited to climb inside.  It was so detailed and lifelike that Vic could almost see Brian's legs moving as he swung himself up into his customary seat.  It must have been drawn earlier in the day, when his employer had decided to visit his favorite tailor down the street; the one who made such exquisite suits for him that graced every angle of his lanky frame, and accentuated his best features:  his long legs and slim build. 

 

Vic gazed back up at the blond sitting near him, whose face was flushed in response to his unexpected praise.  "This one of Brian...you have captured him perfectly.  He has had his picture painted more times than I can recall, and yet no artist has quite grasped his true character...until now."  He could see every line of Brian's coat, every tendril of rebellious hair that had kicked up in the brisk, winter wind; even the puffs of breath his two horses had blown through their nostrils as they waited impatiently for the driver to give the command to move.  "I must show these to Master Kinney," he exclaimed suddenly to Justin's horror as he moved to stand up.

 

"Oh, please...you can't show him!" Justin insisted urgently, clutching Vic's sleeve, his eyes wide with trepidation. 

 

Vic frowned as he sat back down.  "Why not? It's an amazingly lifelike portrait of him."  He skimmed through some of the other pages again.  "And these street scenes are like you're right there in the middle of them. Being a writer, Master Kinney's always had a passion for all the creative arts, and he would be amazed by your talent. Why would you not want to show these to him?  You should be very proud of what you've done."  Vic couldn't help noticing the deep blush of embarrassment that spread across the blond's cheeks in response, and it was then that he understood.  He hid his smile as he asked, "Brian is a very handsome man...don't you think?"  

 

Justin could feel the heat on his cheeks as he averted his gaze downward toward the street scene below.  "Well..."  He sighed as he turned to peer into the older man's kindly face as he admitted, "yes.  Yes, he is.  And if you show that to him, I'm afraid that he...he..."

 

"You're fearful that he will be able to tell that you don't like the ladies...is that it? You find him attractive," Vic answered quietly, watching as Justin's eyes grew wide.  "A man."  He could almost feel the apprehension rolling off the young man's shoulders as he quickly reassured him, "It's all right.  What is said between us stays between us.  It doesn't shock me, though. In fact, I'll let you in on a little secret about _him_ :  he doesn't like the ladies, either." 

 

Justin sucked in a deep breath over that revelation.  He thought at times he could feel Brian's eyes lingering on his longer than needed when they were together, or his hand remaining a second more than it should after he would hand him a glass of water.  But he had just surmised it was because he was concerned for his well-being after the accident.  He would have never in a million years thought that it was due to something else.  Brian was quite a bit older than he; was it possible?  "No," Justin firmly responded with a shake of his head. The whole notion was preposterous.  What would a man of his stature want with him?  A mere boy?  A street urchin? 

 

"No? Master Justin, I can assure you, I have known my employer for years, and I know he doesn't care a whit about all the women that almost trip over themselves in an attempt to gain his favor, especially around the holidays."  He chuckled.  "Seems they all either want to wrap him up as a present for themselves - or, if they are already married to some old, stodgy curmudgeon - they try and steer him toward their daughters.  But it's always a wasted effort."  He chuckled softly.  "If only they knew...but they continue to relentlessly try anyway."   

 

"I believe you," Justin clarified as he fingered the maroon fringe on a nearby, round side table.  He let out a deep breath.  "What I mean is, he doesn't even know I've been drawing him.  It would be embarrassing if he were to see them. And I don't feel about him that way. I mean...I barely know him."  Vic stared over at him silently until Justin relented.  "Even if I did, he's from a different world.  He's older...and doesn't struggle every day just to survive."  He barked out a bitter laugh at the irony.  "He has people who cook for him and wait on him hand and foot, while I have to dig for MY food.  That's how I wound up here in the first place," he reminded him.  His eyes glistened as he added softly, "I won't be here long anyway."  Already, despite his relatively short time at this lavish home, he was already grieving the day he would have to leave. But leave he must; it was always meant to be temporary, and he would savor whatever time he had left until he had to go back to his ‘normal' life - and Brian would continue with his.

 

"One never knows what the future holds," the older man replied sagely with a wry smile as Justin's train of thought was interrupted.  "But I will abide by your wishes, young Justin," he added, receiving a sigh of relief from the blond.  "I think you do yourself a great disservice by not letting Brian see your drawings, however.  He would derive great pleasure from seeing them, I'm certain.  Perhaps one day you will decide to show them to him of your own volition."  Vic sighed in resignation as he handed the book back to Justin.  "But now, I think it's time for you to get some more rest." 

 

Justin huffed in dismay as he clutched the book to his chest.  "Please, not yet!  Just a few more minutes by the window."  He grunted in disgust.  "It seems like all I ever DO is ‘rest'."

 

"You've been sitting there for a long time...and I can tell you're tired," Vic replied nonetheless, noticing the drawn look on his young friend's face.  "I won't take no for an answer, Master Justin.  Now wheel yourself back over to the bed, or I will carry you there.  You know that I can." 

 

Justin wanted to protest further, but he could feel the weariness creeping into his bones.  Grudgingly and with the journal lying in his lap, he did as Vic ordered, using his hands to propel himself over to the bed and allowing Vic to push the coverlet back before he slid onto the mattress, his head coming to rest on the soft, down pillow as he let out a groan.  His body was still stiff and sore from the accident, but the softness and luxury of the bedding helped to cushion and diminish his discomfort somewhat.

 

"It's like some dream," he murmured a few minutes later after Vic had administered another dose of the pain medication mixed into a glass of water, and it began to take effect.  Vic sat on the edge of the bed and smiled down at the drowsy young man as he continued to speak, his voice becoming slower and more sluggish.  "...never want...to wake up..."  At last, his eyes closed in slumber and his breathing evened out as Vic gently removed the sketchbook still clutched in Justin's hands and pulled the cover up to his shoulders.   Staring down at his companion a few moments longer, he carefully rose to his feet, placing the sketchbook on the bed table as he quietly crept toward the door, turning the sconces down to a soft glow before he slowly closed the bedroom door behind him. 

 

* * *

 

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing the reading glasses he normally wore when he was writing toward his brow before he sighed.  He had managed to write a few pages, but the character of his novel seemed to be transforming from a stately, older gentleman into a young, handsome, beautiful, blond; one that distinctly resembled the occupant down the hall from his study.

 

Hearing the closing of a door nearby, Brian assumed it was Vic leaving Justin's room.  Sure enough, as he quietly ambled to his slightly open door, he could see Vic walking toward the steps to head back downstairs, Justin's dinner tray clutched in his hands.  As soon as Vic had descended the steps, Brian crept toward Justin's room, slowly turning the glass knob to peer inside.  The extra journal that Brian had procured for him was presently resting next to him on the nightstand.

 

Unable to resist, Brian walked further inside toward the sleeping blond, pausing at the side of the bed to gaze down at him.  Justin wasn't muscular by any means; in fact, Debbie seemed to be on a mission to fatten him up like the Christmas Goose she cooked each year at their holiday dinner.  He suspected this young man who had so unexpectedly came into his life would always be slim, no matter _what_ the circumstances.  But as he peered down into the peaceful-looking face - one presently devoid of worry or need - he couldn't help being struck by his courage and fortitude in having survived the last few years on the streets.

 

"Just who _are_ you, Justin Taylor?" he whispered, his voice barely audible as he studied the other man.  It was then that he noticed the journal he had given Vic for Justin to use lying on the table, with the maroon marker ribbon sticking out of it, indicating several pages had apparently already been used.  Unable to resist, he picked up the book as Justin softly snored in deep slumber, quietly turning the pages.  He was stunned.  This wasn't the result of someone who had a passing interest in art, or who liked to doodle; this was a detailed, meticulous artist who could bring his work to life, and stir strong emotion in the way he drew his subjects.  When he got to the page where Justin had used _him_ as the focus, he shook his head in awe at the details inherent in the piece.  Every line of his opulent carriage, even the condensation blowing from the horses' nostrils, could be seen, along with the lines of the dark, charcoal-colored satin ribbon outlining the brim of his fedora. Even the polish of the buttons could be seen.  It wasn't so much a drawing as a photograph of a brief moment in time that had been captured for eternity, and it rendered him speechless. 

 

He turned to the next page - curious to see if there were any more - and noticed a drawing of a young girl with freckles, wearing a simple pinafore dress with flowing, wispy hair, stooping to pick up a flower in a rose garden.  A large, brick building loomed behind her, with a steep, pitched roof and rows of windows.  The picture drawn was both charming but also bleak.  Even if the resemblance in her facial features hadn't been similar to Justin's, somehow, he knew this had to be his sister, Molly, and she was standing in front of the orphanage that they had been residing in when she was taken away from her sibling.  Part of the sketch was blotched in one of the corners, and Brian could guess the source.  Clearly, the pain of that experience was still uppermost in Justin's mind, even though - except for that one period when he had told him about their separation - he had never mentioned it again.  Their separation, however, must continue to weigh heavily on his mind.  Even though Brian had never wanted for anything, or experienced such trauma, if he had been placed in the same situation - watching as both parents died of a horrible sickness, and then having his sister torn away from him - he surmised that he would be heartbroken as well. 

 

Placing the book back where he had found it, Brian cast one, last, thoughtful look at the blond sleeping unbeknownst to his scrutiny before he quietly turned and headed back out of the room.

 

 


	6. Tit for Tat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian makes a request that startles his house guest.

_One Week Later...Brian's Study - Evening_

Brian looked on in amusement as he watched Justin ponder his next move from across the wooden desk.  Once he had grudgingly came to the realization that he would never be the predominant winner over his houseguest when it came to chess, he had decided to move onto another game he felt much more confident about - poker.  After all, poker was a game of strategy like chess - yes - but it was also a game of luck and intuition.  What you DID with that knowledge, however, was what ultimately won the game; that, and being able to read your opponent's state of mind. And by the look on the blond's face as he scrunched up his face in apparent disgust, he was going to win this hand quite easily.  He had even had to take time to explain all the rules to Justin thoroughly before he understood the hierarchy of order, and now it was obvious that he knew his cards would not triumph over his full hand of three jacks and two tens.

 

He sighed heavily as a couple of minutes ticked by from the grandfather clock in the corner before he reminded his opponent, "Justin, I said call.  That means you have to show your hand."  He snorted as Justin raised his left hand, wiggled his fingers, and grinned.  "You know what I mean," he chided him, rolling his eyes.  "Let's see what you've got." 

 

Justin bit his lip.  "Can you go through it with me one more time?" he asked sheepishly.

 

Brian suppressed another heavy sigh of exasperation as he took a deep breath and began to recite the order: "Low to high:  Three of a pair beats two pair.  A straight beats three of a kind.  A flush beats a straight.  A full house," he gestured at the hand shown on the table in front of him by way of explanation, "beats a flush.  Four of a kind beats a full house...A straight flush beats four of a kind."  He shook his head in frustration as Justin remained silent.  "And a royal flush beats a straight flush."

 

His heart thumped in his chest as Justin suddenly screamed out with an exalted cry, "That's it!  _That's_ what it's called!  A royal flush!"  And with that, he laid down his hand on the table in a flourish, all in the same suite:  an ace, king, queen, jack, and ten of hearts.  "Pay up," he ordered, holding his right hand palm up in a beckoning command as Brian groaned in stunned disbelief. 

 

"You little fucker!  You've played this before!" he retorted accusatorily.

 

Justin adamantly shook his head. "No, I have not," he insisted.  " _I_ didn't deal that hand," he pointed out.  " _You_ did."  He eyed his adversary in expectation.  "Well?" 

 

"Well, what?" Brian responded, knowing full well what Justin was expecting. 

 

"I said...pay up," he intoned firmly, his lips slowly curving into a grin as Brian rolled his eyes at him and huffed, his hand still extended. 

 

"Oh, for the love of..."  Brian began.  "You can reach the pot just as well as I can, you know.  Your leg was the injured part, remember? Your hands work just fine, along with your mouth."  He chuckled as Justin made a rude sound at the back of his throat in response.  "Go right ahead and indulge yourself; I don't need all that sugar and godforsaken lard she puts in them, anyway." 

 

Justin's grin became a full-fledged smile of delight as he reached over with both hands and pulled the pile of festive, brightly-decorated sugar cookies toward him that Debbie had made earlier in the day, sitting in the middle of the desk and resting on a lace doily in the shape of a snowflake.  Brian's cook always insisted on ‘decorating' his stately manor with all sorts of nonsensical decorations constantly throughout the year, and right now her urge to do so seemed to be in overdrive.  It didn't help, either, that Justin was frequently offering suggestions to her on what to create.

 

Just as Brian had suspected, Debbie and Justin had become bosom buddies within days of his appearance (emphasis on the bosom part, when Debbie had crushed him to her chest upon meeting him for the first time).   Pleased that their houseguest was so enthusiastically consuming everything she cooked for him (not a morsel ever remained on his meal tray), she had insisted on bringing up his breakfast personally one morning to meet the young man.  Clucking sympathetically over his injury - as she glared over at Brian as if it were his fault - she had subsequently made it her mission to prepare highly-fattening meals and treats for the blond, claiming that he was still far too thin.  Justin loved all the attention and the care that Debbie bestowed upon him; she was moved to tears when he confided in her about the tragedies that had befallen him and his family over the past few years, and now they were practically glued to the hip.

 

"Mmmm...." He murmured happily as he sunk his teeth into the soft, icing-covered treat shaped like a wreath.  "These are soooo good," he exclaimed in bliss. 

 

Brian snorted; stunned once more into being soundly defeated in a game he had always mastered.  It was almost as if Justin knew his moves beforehand.  "Well, I let you win," he declared, earning an affronted expression from his companion.  "I can't stand all that sugar, and Debbie knows it.  She'd never get away with that if _you_ weren't here.  I only let her make those dreadfully fat-laden globs around Christmas, and you happened to have shown up at just the right time.  So, I decided to let you eat _all_ of them." 

 

Justin's mouth hung open, a crumb hanging from his mouth, as he stared at Brian silently for several seconds before he burst out laughing; his smile was so brilliant that Brian was the stunned one then.  "I beg to differ, Master Kinney!  There is NO way you could have rigged that in my favor.  I won fair and square!  And to the victors go the spoils," he announced gleefully, biting down on the last bit of the cookie and shoving the remainder into his mouth before taking a big swallow.

 

Brian was about to point out that it was just one round - and he would no doubt win more than lose coming up - but stopped to watch in fascination as Justin's tongue flicked out to grab the errant cookie crumb before his Adam's apple moved when he swallowed, causing something to stir in him that he had never felt before; something not just physical, because, yes, the attraction was certainly there. Despite his youth, no honorable homosexual male - whatever his age - couldn't help noticing how beautiful a young man Justin was.  No, it was more of an emotional response that he couldn't quite fathom.  Just what was it about this slip of a man that captivated him so?  He was basically just a kid; a young boy who had admittedly been cast into a sorrowful situation that he had not had any control over.  He had to remind himself that Justin was in his keep temporarily, too; soon, he would be told it was time to leave.  In fact, Justin's ankle seemed to be healing so well due to his guest's determination to walk again that he felt Dr. Weston would confirm his opinion that it was almost fully healed during his upcoming visit in a few days. But it hadn't taken long for him to realize how intelligent, quick-witted, and creative Justin was, despite his adversities.  And he had to admit it impressed him greatly.   He was also very independent and strong-willed - something he had soon discovered after the injury.

 

Justin had initially appreciated and embraced the borrowed wheelchair from Brian's physician that had allowed him some much-desired mobility to move around his room.  But it hadn't taken him long to ask if there might be a cane he could borrow, instead, and despite Vic's concern for his welfare and possibly reinjuring himself, Brian had retrieved an elegant, polished, wooden one that had belonged to his father years ago from the foyer closet, and had given it to his obstinate but determined guest with a declaration that he was on his own as far as any risk involved; a dare that Justin quickly accepted as a challenge.

 

After a few tentative tries in his bedroom under Vic's watchful eye, Justin had soon been hobbling around with the use of the cane, even venturing outside his room.  When Brian had first heard the clump-clump-clumping noise in the hall a couple of days ago, followed by a knock on his study door, upon calling out "enter" and expecting one of his wait staff to appear, he had been flabbergasted to see Justin standing there instead, holding onto the crystal doorknob with one hand and the cane with the other, a triumphant - if not smug - expression on his face. Brian couldn't help smiling back at him in return, then, feeling a certain respect for the younger man's perseverance.   "Well, toddle on in," Brian had invited dryly.  He hadn't bothered to even rise from his chair at the time to help the other man; he had already found out enough to know it would be soundly rejected.  He had watched as Justin had slowly but steadily walked over to his desk and dropped himself down into the overstuffed, leather chair opposite Brian's with a grateful groan.

 

Since that day, Justin had become a daily visitor to Brian's study, keeping him company as he worked on his novel, conversing with him in surprisingly intellectual subjects, or - as they were doing now - playing a round of poker; a diversion that Brian was quickly starting to rue having taught his competitor how to play.

 

"I still say someone taught you poker - probably in some back alley somewhere - and you've just been fucking around with my head," he maintained, but Justin adamantly shook his head no.  Brian chuckled.  "Okay...maybe you're just a lucky little lad, then," he declared with a smirk. 

 

He noticed then that Justin's smile faded a little to be replaced by something more serious as the young man replied, "I AM lucky.  I'm lucky that you were the owner of the carriage that hit me; if it had been anyone else, they would have just veered their horses around me and continued on, with nary an ounce of concern, and left me there to freeze to death.  After all, I'm a nobody to them.  But you...all this that you have done..."  He cast his eyes downward then, feeling humbled and a bit embarrassed, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he remembered his time here would be brief.  He lifted his eyes to meet the hazel ones peering silently back at him as he added, "Thank you doesn't seem enough for all you've done for me.  I have enjoyed the time while it has lasted.  I wish I had some way to repay you for your generosity."  He could feel heat rising on his cheeks then, wondering if this man might want ‘payment' in some unique way that did not require money; after all, it was obvious that Brian Kinney didn't need additional compensation to maintain his well-appointed lifestyle.  Vic had told him about his employer's sexual inclination; was it possible, then, that he expected some sort of sexual favor from him in exchange for his altruism? 

 

Brian cleared his throat.  "First of all, to hell with all those other bluebloods.  You are NOT a ‘nobody,' Justin Taylor.  You are someone who - through no fault of your own, or your sister's - was the victim of something you had no control over.  And you've managed somehow to survive God-knows-what sort of experiences during that time.  I am accustomed to a lavish lifestyle, yes, one that I've acquired through a lot of hard work.  But I travel quite extensively around the city and the world; enough to know that there have been many others like you who have been cast into similar plights.  You're intelligent, well-spoken, creative...that is NOT a ‘nobody' in my eyes.  That is someone down on his luck.  And second, the doctor said you would need two weeks' time minimum before your ankle is fully healed.  It's been just barely a week now.  I am NOT going to be responsible for receiving a reprimand from the good doctor because you - in your obstinance, and don't try to deny that you are - chose to accelerate that timeframe.  So, like it or not, Mr. Taylor, you are stuck here for at least another week.  Do you understand?" 

 

Justin stared back at him mutely, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he nodded.  He would like nothing more than to spend another week here.  It had been one of the most wonderful experiences of his life, despite the pain from his injury.  "Yes.  But I think it's because you'll need another week before you can beat me in poker or chess."  He laughed as Brian bestowed a pained look upon him.  "Or do you have some _other_ game you wish to instruct me in?  One that perhaps you might be more proficient with?" 

 

Brian's breath caught in his throat.  If he didn't know better, he might think this young man was flirting with him.  _Was it possible?_   No, he finally decided, as he retorted, "Remember...luck. That's all there is to it." 

 

"Uh, huh," Justin bantered back with a smirk of his own.  "We'll call it that, anyway."  His voice took on more of a solemn tone again as he added, "But I do wish there was some way I could pay you back with more than just a ‘thank you'." 

 

Brian leaned back in his chair, his long fingers steepled in front of his face.  "Perhaps there is."  He hesitated, not sure what Justin's reaction would be to what he was about to say.  He noticed Justin's eyes widen as he explained, "I'd like to tell you a little bit about the first part of my novel that I'm writing.  It'll be serialized in three parts like my others, and I have the entire plot outlined, but I'm working only on the first instalment they'll be publishing right now." 

 

Justin's eyes lit up at the thought. He had wondered greatly about just what sort of works Brian wrote, ever since he had learned he was a writer.  "You would?  I've love to hear about it!" 

 

 Brian grinned over Justin's eagerness, once more captivated by just how Justin almost glowed whenever he smiled the way he was doing now. It was amazing.  "Well, it's a mystery novel - one of my favorite genres of stories to write," he explained as Justin nodded in rapt attention, their poker game now completely forgotten.  "It involves an older, distinguished gentleman who decides to visit his family in upstate New England by train one last time before he dies, and the mystery occurs while he is on the train before he arrives there.  The train will make stops along the way - he'll be boarding in his home town of Philadelphia - and a lot of the plot will involve different characters and situations he encounters during his trip, including a murder. I love a good back-stabbing," he explained with a smirk. "God knows I've run into enough of those types myself at both public and private functions." 

 

Justin grinned in response.  "I imagine you have.  That might be a story in itself. Perhaps you should write an autobiography one day." 

 

Brian dismissed that with a wave of his hand.  "Nah.  I prefer to keep my private life private.  Anyway, that's where YOU come in." 

 

Justin frowned.  "I'm not following." 

 

Brian hesitated.  "When you were asleep a few days ago, I came in just to see how you were doing...and...I saw the journal I had given you."  He saw Justin's mouth hang open in dismay, anticipating what he was about to say.  "I couldn't help peeking at what you had been drawing."

 

"NO!"  The forceful strength in that one word coming from Justin's lips surprised Brian.  He watched as Justin's cheeks and neck flushed with apparent embarrassment...or was it anger?  "I told Vic I didn't want you to SEE them!  Why did you do that?"  He covered his face with his hands. 

 

"You were so eager to use the journal that I couldn't help myself," Brian explained feebly as the blond uncovered his eyes to glare over at him in resentment.  He sighed.  "I regret my impulse," he added.  "But I don't regret seeing them, Justin. Because they're astounding in their detail and perfectionism.  When you said you could ‘draw,' I had no idea I would see what I did! Even the best illustrators I employ for my novels come nowhere near the quality or detail that you display in those pieces."

 

Justin wasn't buying it, however.  "You're just saying that because you feel bad about what you did."

 

"I think you know me well enough by now to realize that when I say something, I mean it.  I don't compliment someone merely to stroke their ego."  He huffed.  "And believe me, I've seen people with egos the size of elephants.  Anyone who writes has to, or you'd never survive the rejection letters you receive from your submissions." 

 

That piqued Justin's interest enough to temporarily, at least, forget about him being indignant over what he viewed as an invasion of privacy.  "Have YOU had a lot of rejection for your works?" he couldn't help asking. 

 

Brian admitted, "Some.  Mainly it was starting out. But once you build up a reputation - and your popularity - the publishers practically climb all over themselves to win your favor." 

 

Justin nodded before he recalled their previous topic.  Brow furrowed, he responded, "Well, from the looks of this place, you've obviously been successful."  Everything Justin had observed on the second floor was made of the finest quality, whether it was the textiles, furniture, or light fixtures. And Brian...the man was fastidious to a fault.  His desk was so well-organized and clean that you could almost see your reflection in it.

 

"Quite."  There was no hint of smugness in Brian's tone as he answered honestly. 

 

"But still...even though I'm grateful you supplied me with writing materials, that didn't give you the right to go through the journal and look at my drawings." 

 

"Agreed," Brian admitted as he stroked his stubbled face before sitting back in his leather office chair.  "But now that I did, I need your help.  If you'll grant it to me." 

 

Justin frowned.  "MY help? What could I possibly help _you_ with?" 

 

"The illustrations for the novel I'm writing."

 

Justin peered at him agape, wondering if he was understanding Brian correctly.  "You want ME to draw illustrations for your novel?" 

 

Brian nodded. "That's right." 

 

Justin laughed at the absurdity.  "Me?  You must be joking.  Anyone with your success can easily employ the best of illustrators, I'm sure."  He shook his head in astonishment.

 

"Yes, I can...if one of them could capture the essence of the main character in my present novel. So far, I've had three of them try - and fail miserably.  I don't settle for mediocre, and all of them barely reached even THAT level." 

 

Justin peered over at him skeptically.  "And what makes you think that I would do any better than these professionals?" 

 

"Two reasons:  You're not jaded into trying to guess what I WANT to see, merely because you haven't read any of my writings before...correct?"  He supposed there was a slight possibility that his guest had somehow procured one somewhere along the way but knowing his background he felt it was highly unlikely. 

 

Just as he thought, Justin shook his head.  "No...I was a little busy these past few years trying to find food and shelter to visit the local library in between hunting expeditions." 

 

Brian smiled; despite Justin's dire experience of the past few years, he hadn't lost his dry sense of humor.  "I suppose not.  Well, then, what I said bears repeating - you don't know what my expectations are, other than I'm sure you've figured out by now that they are quite high." 

 

"Yes, I gleaned that from the mediocre part," Justin replied with a wry smile of his own.  "And the second reason?" 

 

"I've seen your work," Brian told him simply.  "That drawing of me by the carriage - THAT is the type of detail I want when the major character of my novel is portrayed throughout the serialization.  I want readers to feel like the illustrations are jumping off the page, and to do that I need someone with a distinct eye for detail; an excellent grasp of shadow and texture, an almost obsessive passion for it to the point where you can see the man's wrinkles in his clothing, the luxurious elements of the train car, the expressions on the porters' faces, and the interior where the scenes take place.  Even the scenery from the train's windows. You can do that and do it successfully; I can sense it.  I strongly believe that a novel is only as good as the writing...AND the ability for the reader to project themselves into the scenes.  That's where the writer and illustrator must work together as a team to do that."

 

Justin furrowed his brow; the idea at once both excited him and frightened him.  _Did Brian truly feel his artistic talent was worthy of accompanying one of his novels_?  "Brian...surely you could get someone else more qualified." 

 

Brian shook his head firmly.  "No, I've made up my mind. Will you do it, then?  You will be fairly compensated, just as I have done so for my other illustrators." 

 

Justin peered at him aghast.  "No, you will NOT!  Are you crazy?  After all you've done for me, you would pay ME to draw illustrations for your work?"

 

"Of course.  It's only fair." 

 

"Fair?  No, what WASN'T fair was my failing to see your carriage and causing the injury to my foot. I have no one to blame but myself for my negligence."  Of course, that ‘negligence' had transformed into a most wondrous experience for him; something he had never in his wildest dreams imagined would happen.  Still, he wouldn't...he _couldn't_...accept anything monetary from the man who had literally saved him from freezing to death that cold, bitter night.  "There is no way I will accept money from you.  You have done more than enough already." 

 

Brian sighed.  "You are one stubborn bastard," he muttered.  "Okay, then.  No monetary compensation.  Then think of it, instead, as a way to pay me back for your room and board during your recuperation.  You said you were looking for a way. So, will you help me?" 

 

Justin peered over at him silently for a few moments before he finally nodded.  "All right. Tell me what you need, and I'll do my best to bring it to life." 

 

Brian smiled in triumph as he reached down into his lower desk drawer to retrieve several, slightly threadbare pages bound by a leather tie, filled with his bold, dramatic handwriting.  "You can start by reading this first part.  I will continue from the last plot line on another page while you review these.  There are blank pages inserted where I will want the illustrations to be.  Let your imagination flow from the descriptions I give and use that as your inspiration.  I will be most interested in seeing how you interpret what I wrote." 

 

Justin nodded as he almost reverently accepted the pages from the other man, their fingers brushing together and causing his heart to jolt on contact.  Surprised, he lifted his eyes to meet Brian's, the intense expression on the brunet's face causing Justin to blush.  He quickly placed the pages in front of him on the desk, the lightweight, tartan-design blanket that had been draped over his legs to ward off any chill in the air fluttering unnoticed to the floor.  He reached toward the ever-present cane curved over the arm of the chair.  "I will take this back to my room and begin tonight," he told him.  "I am looking forward to reading it. I shall say goodnight, then," Justin told him.

 

Brian nodded as he asked, "Should I send Vic up to assist you?"  

 

Justin shook his head. "No, I can manage on my own, but thank you."  He grasped the cane, and stiffly began to rise, reaching with his free hand for the bound pages on top of the desk ...only to begin to slide on the blanket now bunched by his feet.  His heart raced as he realized he was about to fall...only to be saved at the last moment by a pair of strong arms that grasped him under the armpits to hold him upright, the bundle falling to the floor with a loud thump when Brian jostled the desk. 

 

Their eyes stared into each other's as they stood face-to-face, both hearing the panting of their breaths.  "It seems you DO require assistance," Brian told him firmly, still holding him upright.  For some inexplicable reason, he was hesitant to let him go, and he knew it had nothing to do with impropriety. "You aren't used to carrying something with you while walking with the cane.  Let me help you back to your room.  I'll bring the pages to YOU once you're safely lying down."    

 

"SITTING down," Justin couldn't help correcting him with a nod.  "I want to start reading your story right away."

 

Brian sighed, knowing Justin needed rest by the tired lines on his face, but also realizing he would not be persuaded otherwise.  "All right; for a little while.  Then I'll have Vic come up and help you over to the bed.  NO arguments, all right?"  

 

Justin nodded, his body tingling as Brian moved to place his arm around his waist to firmly hold him upright while Justin grasped the cane with the other. Slowly, they made their way to the door, out the hallway, and to his bedroom.  He deliberately avoided looking at Brian, afraid that it would  somehow betray his thoughts, as they walked over to one of the plush velour chairs perched by the window.  It had come to be one of Justin's favorite places to be by now; that, and - unbeknownst to Brian - the chair across from his desk as well.  Both had become very familiar and comforting to him. 

 

Brian sighed in resignation as he gripped Justin's arm to allow the younger man to slowly sink down into the chair.  He heard him let out a soft groan as he did so, almost making him inquire if he was okay. But he knew that would be met with resistance, so he didn't even try. Reaching over to the other chair to grab a crocheted throw (another talent of his cook), he draped it over Justin's lower body, receiving a roll of the eyes in return.  "Stay there, and I'll go get the manuscript pages," he instructed him sternly as Justin yawned. 

 

Less than a minute later, he returned with the pages in his hand and stopped to lean against the doorway, peering at the blond who was now lightly snoring with partially-open lips.  Brian shook his head as he gingerly walked inside, placing the manuscript on the small, oval table next to Justin's chair.  "Told you that you needed rest," he chided him in a whisper, gazing at him thoughtfully.  "Stubborn son of a bitch."  Shaking his head, he walked over to Justin's bed to grab two pillows and an extra folded cotton blanket from the foot of the bed, carefully placing one pillow under Justin's head before sitting down in an adjacent chair and propping his feet up on the matching ottoman. Placing the other pillow behind his head, he covered himself with the throw and closed his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in posting. I've recently moved and am working full-time, so RL has been very difficult lately. Not to fear, though; I've never failed to complete a story, and this one WILL be finished as well. Thank you for your patience in the meantime, and for the support/comments. I do appreciate it. :)


	7. Artistry Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Justin grow closer as they collaborate together.

_The Next Morning - 7:00 a.m._

Debbie trudged up the steps, her breathing slightly labored by the heavy, silver breakfast tray grasped in her hands.  Their young guest with the hearty appetite inspired her to supplement his morning meal with all sorts of accompaniments to her standard preparation of ham, eggs, homemade biscuits and jam.  A large glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice, along with a couple of pastries, filled out the plate.  She had always felt flattered by those who complimented her on her culinary skills, and Justin was absolutely over the moon in his effusive praise of her cooking, which made her inordinately happy.

 

Reaching the second-floor landing, she stopped to catch her breath before turning to head down toward the end of the hallway to Justin's room, hesitating with a frown as she noticed Vic peeking through the slightly ajar door. Cursing when she inadvertently stepped on a creaking floorboard, Vic heard the sound as he turned and placed his fingers against his lips as she made her way to his side.  "What's going...?" she began to inquire, only to have Vic hiss at her to be quiet.  Glaring at him, he slowly opened the door wider, and as she looked in, her initial instinct to issue a sharp rebuke at him quickly died on her lips as she spied what he was looking at:  there, sitting side-by-side, was her employer - slouched down in one chair, with his long legs hanging down in front of him and his lips slightly parted as he lightly snored under a blanket - and their guest, sitting in the other chair in a similar fashion, except Justin fit more comfortably in his.  The ever-present cane he had been using was lying prone on top of the table between them, the light still shining from the wall sconces. 

 

It was obvious both men had been there sleeping all night, and it filled Debbie with great amusement.  She grinned over at Vic evilly as he rolled his eyes at her before she bellowed cheerfully in a loud voice, "Breakfast's ready!"

 

She stifled a laugh as both men's eyes flew open at the same time as if they were performing a synchronized Olympic event, each sweeping their vision around the room to reorient themselves to their strange surroundings.  Realizing what had happened, Brian let out a groan, feeling the stiffness in his body all the way from his shoulders down to his ass, as he stretched his arms above his head to try and work out some of the kinks before he pushed himself up straighter in the chair.

 

Justin, realizing he had not only slept where he had sat last night - and had evidently been covered with a blanket by Brian, who was sitting beside him - turned to peer over at him and blushed, not sure _what_ to make of their situation.  "You slept here all night?  In that?" he asked Brian softly. 

 

Brian averted his eyes and nodded.  "Yes, I must have inadvertently fallen asleep in the chair," he told his companion.   Hanging the blanket over the back of his makeshift bed, he slowly rose to his feet and walked over to the porcelain water pitcher, reaching for a glass next to it to take a large gulp of the liquid to wet his parched lips.  Clearing his throat, he declared to his cook, "I'm retiring to my study to work on my novel after I freshen up first." 

 

Debbie smiled.  "Well, I'll see that Justin here is properly fed, then," he told him as Brian nodded, relieved to be released from any further scrutiny.  "Shall I have Temperance bring you your breakfast, then?"

 

Brian shook his head.  "Just the tea.  Nothing else for now."  Even when he DID eat, it was normally a very light breakfast; just enough to help him get started on his day's writing.

 

Debbie nodded as Brian slipped past her to head back toward his bedroom; she exchanged a knowing glance at Vic before walking over to her guest.  "I fixed the eggs just like you prefer them, honey."

 

Justin's eyes lit up at the food on the tray she placed down next to him on the side table.  "Are those apple?" he asked as he spied the delicate-looking, filled pastries, the top shiny and encrusted with sugar.  Having just come out of the oven, they smelled like heaven to him. 

 

Debbie grinned.  "Of course.  Chose the juiciest ones to use, right from the cellar. And sprinkled them with sugar and cinnamon, just like you told me you liked them." 

 

Justin's smiled gratefully at her as he replied, "You remembered."  His mother used to fix him all sorts of sweets, but his favorite ones always contained an apple in some variety, whether it was cut up, whole with cinnamon, or pureed into a sauce for a topping.  He figured that was perhaps why he adored Debbie's baking so much; it helped him to remember the good times he had shared as a family.  "Thank you," he told her sincerely, his voice temporarily choked up with reminiscence. 

 

Debbie briefly brushed the back of her hand against his cheek, a swell of affection flaring up inside of her.  "You're welcome.  How is the ankle today?"

 

Justin picked up a silver fork to stab some of the egg and take a bite, savoring the smoothness of the food before swallowing it to speak.  "Better every day," he told her as she nodded.  "Dr. Weston's supposed to come see me later today." 

 

Vic greeted him as he walked further into the room.  "I'm glad to see you doing so well, young Justin.  You slept all night in that chair?"  Justin nodded as Vic glanced down and immediately noticed what was lying next to his breakfast platter.  "I see Master Kinney left his manuscript here.  I'll return it to him, so you can finish your meal."

 

"No!" Justin replied urgently, receiving some odd looks from both Vic and Debbie.  "I mean...Bri...Master Kinney gave me permission to read it."  He wasn't sure how much he should tell them about Brian's wish for him to illustrate it.  "He told me a little about it, and it sounds very intriguing." 

 

Debbie raised her eyebrows; it seems Justin and her employer were spending more and more time together.  "I haven't heard much about what he's working on right now, but I've read some of his others, and enjoyed them very much," she told him.  She glanced once more at Vic as Justin silently continued to eat before clearing her throat. "Well...I shall let you finish your breakfast, then.  I'll have Temperance bring your tray back down when she brings Master Kinney his tea."  She knew from experience that with their young guest's appetite it wouldn't take long for him to finish it. 

 

Justin smiled.  "Thank you." 

 

She nodded with a smile of her own as she and Vic turned to go.  "I have some tasks to do, but if you need anything, you know what to do."

 

Justin laughed, recalling how Vic had decided the other day that if he needed anything, all he had to do was take his cane and tap it boldly on the wooden floor three times.  It would be their signal that he needed assistance for something.  Brian had come out of his office the first time he had heard the racket, a scowl on his face, wondering what had caused such a ruckus.  But once he had learned the reason for it, he had become more amused than bothered by it, and Justin tried to use their signal as little as possible, preferring, instead, to do as much as he could independently without anyone helping him. 

 

"Yes, I do," he told him.  "I'll be fine."  Besides, he couldn't wait to start reading Brian's novel, so he could begin drawing the illustrations.  For once in a very long time, he felt like he had a purpose - a reason - to exist, and it filled him with more happiness than he could have possibly imagined.

 

"I imagine you will," Vic replied softly with a smile, noticing how Justin had already reached to pick up the manuscript and was untying the brown piece of twine binding it together.  He watched as the young man picked up the first few pages almost reverently, his fingers tracing lightly over the title page, before he turned and quietly left the room. 

* * *

_Mid-Afternoon - Same Day_

Dr. Weston rose from his place next to Justin's chair and nodded in satisfaction.  "Well, young man, you are very lucky that you chose to get hit by Master Kinney's carriage.  I mean," he continued, as both Brian and Justin gave him incredulous looks, "at least if you WERE going to get struck, you were guaranteed the best of care while you were recuperating.  And you must be one determined individual, because your ankle is very close to being completely healed now, except for some residual bruising.  I can't believe you're using Joseph's old cane."  He grinned, shaking his head in amazement.  "I guess the wheelchair can go back with me to my practice now." 

 

"Yeah, but it's not completely healed yet, right?" Brian interjected quickly.  He felt his face warm as he explained, "I mean, you said two weeks, and it's barely been over a week now. I do feel responsible for what happened, so I don't want him doing something rash that will re-injure his foot.  Besides, he's very skinny and needs to gain some more weight." 

 

Justin huffed.  "I'm right here, in case you've forgotten!" he scolded him.  "And I am NOT ‘skinny'!"  He wrinkled his nose in disgust over Brian's choice of word. 

 

Both Brian AND the doctor merely laughed as Brian replied, "Well, you're not as skinny as when you got here; but you still need to gain some more weight...correct, Doc?  And he's been walking around a lot with that cane lately, and I don't doubt for a second that one day - even tomorrow, even - he might try to sneak down the steps with it.  Couldn't he reinjure it if he walks on it too long?" 

 

Justin's mouth hung open.  "I am NOT a toddling child!" he retorted.  "I'm not bearing all my weight on it...yet." His chin jutted out as he vowed, "But give me a few more days, and I..."

 

Brian held his hands up in supplication.  "See?  I rest my case."  Justin glared at him as he added, "It's not like I don't have the room. And God knows Cook fixes enough food for an army, so she's delighted to have the extra body to feed.  Besides, you've got some work to do." 

 

The doctor frowned.  "Work?  You're making him do some manual labor to help pay for taking care of his injury.  Brian, I don't think..."

 

"What do you _take_ me for?  No, of course not! He won't even have to stand up for this!"  He rolled his eyes as the doctor peered over inquiringly at Justin, making him unexpectedly blush.  "I hate to disappoint your scintillating imagination, Doc, but it's not THAT, either."  The doctor was aware of Brian's proclivity when it came to sexual partners, but unlike so many others in the city, as long as it didn't involve him, he stayed out of it, and he really didn't care.  Many expected someone of Brian's stature to at least find a woman to marry and bear him children; to them, a loveless marriage of convenience was better than nothing.  But the doctor had never been married, either, and thought it hypocritical to try and persuade someone else to marry merely to propagate his bloodline.  

 

Brian explained, "Justin happens to be an amazing artist, and the current ones I'm employing for my latest serialization are for shit.  So, he'll be earning his keep, so to speak, by doing the illustrations for me." 

 

The doctor peered over at Justin in surprise, whose cheeks had reddened at the work ‘amazing.'  "I had no idea, young man.  I think that's a splendid notion, actually!  While you're helping him, I'm sure that his cook will no doubt make sure that you continue to gain some much-needed weight.  And you can do the work without putting unneeded pressure on the ankle."  The doctor paused before inquiring, "I would very much enjoy seeing some of your work.  May I?" 

 

Unable to come up with a reasonable explanation to refuse, Justin nodded shyly before reaching to grasp the journal Brian had given him, handing it over to the doctor, who opened it up and scrutinized the contents.  Taking a couple of minutes to study the contents, he slowly turned each page until reaching the end, closing it and shaking his head.  "Wow.  Brian was right.  You are very gifted, young man."

 

Justin swallowed hard as both men nodded, feeling uncomfortable with all the attention.  But in a way, having someone else compliment him on his artistic ability helped to confirm that Brian hadn't just been trying to make him feel better, or placate him about his creativity.  "Thanks," he murmured at last. "I'm glad you think so." 

 

"And have no fear, Doc; at the rate Debbie is going, I'll have to arrange for more dry goods and meats to be delivered.  She's having the time of her life, finding someone who relishes who cooking as much as Justin does."  He laughed as the blond covered his face with his hands.  "Oh, don't look so embarrassed!" he chided him.  "She loves it!  She's always hounding me about never eating enough.  She's finally found someone who ‘appreciates' her efforts, as she puts it.  And it helps keep me from being the target of her disdain when she feels I don't eat enough." 

 

Weston smiled.  "Yes, I can certainly imagine that. I don't have to tell you that one of the benefits to making house calls here is that I get to take advantage of her meals.  She never lets me leave here without either a dessert or some sort of delicacy to take with me - or if it's near dinner time, she forcibly sits me down at the dining table to eat.  I admit I don't protest too much, though," the doc admitted, patting his stomach.  "She's made me put on a few pounds myself.  But I look forward each spring to her fresh cherry pie. When she puts it on the windowsill to cool, I can always smell it way up the street before I even get here...and it hastens my step, believe me."

 

Justin grinned, imagining how good that dessert must smell - and taste.  He had to admit, Debbie's cooking was divine.  He didn't know exactly how long he would remain here while he assisted Brian with his manuscript - that is, if Brian approved of what he drew - but he knew he would sorely miss her cooking when he had to leave.  Not just that, but her kindness.  He reminded her a lot of his mother in a way, and it brought a lump to his throat at the thought.

 

"Justin?" 

 

Brian's calling his name brought him back to the present.  "Hmm?" 

 

"Something wrong?" he asked him, noticing a worried crease on his guest's brow appear.

 

Justin shook his head and managed a wan smile, not wanting to reveal what he had been thinking; he was going to miss this place when his time was up.  "No, I'm fine," he assured him as Brian studied him for a few moments before finally nodding his head.

 

The doctor cleared his throat to get their attention, feeling like he was suddenly being ignored as the two men peered over at him.  "Well, then...I'll be collecting the wheelchair and heading back to my practice," he announced.  "Justin, you're doing great with the ankle, but maintain as little weight-bearing on it as possible, at least for the next week," he reminded his young patient.  "Then you should be fine.  If any complications develop, one of Brian's waitstaff will let me know."  Brian nodded in agreement.  "I shall bid you gentlemen a good afternoon, then," he declared as he walked over to the wheelchair.

 

"Leave it," Brian instructed.  "You can't get that into your carriage; I'll have the horseman bring it over within the hour." 

 

"Thank you.  And I expect a copy of your next serialization as usual."

 

Brian chuckled.  "I'll deduct it from your bill for services rendered," he told the doctor as - with one final nod and a smile - the doctor turned and left the room, leaving Brian and Justin alone, sitting at an angle to each other in their customary spots by the windows overlooking the street below.

 

"Justin?" 

 

The blond lifted his eyes to return his gaze.  "Yes?" 

 

Brian nodded at his manuscript now sitting on the oval table between them, noticing how it had been unraveled.  "You've already started reading the novel?" 

 

Justin smiled.  "Of course!  I have to know what I need to illustrate, don't I?" 

 

Brian smiled back at him with a nod.  "Yes, obviously," he agreed.  "So, how much have you read so far?" 

 

Justin shrugged.  "Maybe 20, 25 pages?" he guessed.  "Up to where the second illustration would go." 

 

"Already? You've only had it for an hour or so."  Brian's writing - while bold and confident - was also compact, so he knew that would have been a lot of reading within such a short span of time since he had given it to his guest. He paused then, needing to know; not that it would matter as far as the illustrations were concerned, but he found it important nonetheless.  "So...what do you think of it so far?" 

 

Justin's eyes lit up as he flashed a brilliant smile at Brian that was without a doubt genuine.  "I love it!  The mystery surrounding the man's past and his separation from his family, how you don't reveal exactly why he's wanting to see his son and the rest of his family so urgently.  Is it just because he's afraid he will die of old age soon, or some other reason?  Is the murder related to him somehow?  And who is the man that was stabbed with the knife?   Why doesn't anyone believe him?  I have all KINDS of questions now! I could barely put it down when the doctor arrived."

 

Brian couldn't help grinning over Justin's enthusiasm. It was obvious that he was enjoying reading it, and for some reason it filled him with joy.  Before, he had always written novels for himself, not for his admirers; he continued to receive a handsome stipend for his work from the publisher, who had so much faith in him by now that he would practically salivate at the news of another work he was about to start.  He didn't need the money to live on, nor did he need anyone's approval of his work, including the innumerable illustrators who had collaborated with him on his past novels.  But for some reason, he felt it important that Justin liked what he wrote.  "Well, you've certainly dug right into it," he observed dryly with a smile.  "I'm looking forward to seeing what you come up with now, based on my descriptions."

 

Justin stammered, "Actually...I've already started working on them.  I have the initial sketch of Pemberton for you to review."

 

Brian's eyes widened in astonishment.  "Already?"  Most of his illustrators took several days before they would even approach him with their first attempt, which normally resulted in several more drafts before he was satisfied with it.  He was doubtful, then, that Justin really understood what he wanted as far as an illustration.  It had to be rudimentary at best.  "Well, then...may I see it?" he asked, extremely curious, but also skeptical. 

 

Justin licked his lips - suddenly feeling them dry - before biting his lower one anxiously as he nodded, searching through the loose pages until he came to the place where his illustration would be.  "I hope it's all right. I used the blank page you gave me as my drawing paper.  I wanted to use the same quality as the other pages." 

 

"That's fine," Brian assured him.  "The heavy bond paper is the only one I will use.  It's the highest quality available at the stationery shop, so your assumption is correct."  He paused as he extended his hand.     

 

Justin plucked the single sheet of paper from the stack and handed it to Brian to study.  He watched the brunet as he scrutinized the drawing, unable to glean his impression from it; Brian's face was inscrutable as he took what seemed an inordinate amount of time dissecting what he had drawn.  Was he disappointed in his decision to do the illustrations for him?  The longer he waited, the more unsure he became.  "I...I know it's just an initial draft," he began to explain.  "It's not as detailed as I would want it to be yet, but hopefully I've captured some of what you had in mind when you wrote about him."  He had poured over each bit of information about the older gentleman, including his long coat, top hat, and ascot he was wearing, to how he imagined his facial features would look and how lanky a frame he had.  At least, this was how he envisioned the man when he read Brian's words, which flowed from the page with such intricacy and complexity. 

 

At last, Brian lifted his eyes to meet his companion's.  "Justin..."  His mouth hung open.

 

"I know, I know...it's too amateurish," Justin murmured.  "I can't compete with professionals..."  He stopped, however, as Brian held up his hand. 

 

He shook his head. "No, that's not it...how did you know?"

 

Justin frowned, his brow creased.  "Know?  Know what?" 

 

"I'll be dratted!  I don't believe this!  I knew how meticulous you were when it came to details from the other work I saw, but still..."  He held the sketch in his hands, his face filled with awe.  If he could have envisioned the main character in his head and put it down on paper, he couldn't have done a more accurate job.  None of his previous, more experienced illustrators had ever captured any of his novel's characters so well.  "This is exactly the way I envisioned my main character."  He studied the sketch intently, marveling at the details Justin had included for his lead character.  Pemberton was just as he had imagined him:  tall, distinguished, with a wizened face, creases around his forehead, and crow's feet borne through years of diversity but also industrious work.  Tall, almost resembling an older Abraham Lincoln, had he lived to be in his 80s.  Salt-and-pepper hair, with a neatly-cropped beard and bushy eyebrows with piercing eyes that made for a dominating figure; one that automatically garnered respect by his carriage and the determined look on his countenance.

 

Brian shook his head.  "This...this is Charles Pemberton come to life," he told Justin, who smiled with delight over how much he liked the drawing.  He had been so fearful that his rendering wouldn't live up to the high standards that Brian no doubt expected from his more seasoned, polished illustrators, and this was his first attempt at trying to conjure up a drawing simply based upon what he had read.

 

"So...you're satisfied with it?" Justin asked. 

 

"No. Not satisfied."  Justin's heart dropped until Brian explained, "Satisfied is the way you feel after you've had a good brandy or eaten a well-prepared meal.  Satisfied is when your bank account draws sufficient interest, and your investments are well-guarded.  No, I'm _more_ than satisfied!  I knew you could outdraw those imbeciles who call themselves illustrators."  He shook his head once more in astonishment.  "I can't wait to see what else you draw coming up.  Because this is perfect for the first illustration.  I wouldn't change a thing about him, in fact."

 

Justin flashed him a broad smile, making Brian's heart flip.  "You wouldn't?  I mean...this was only a first draft.  I figured you would want changes made."

 

Brian shook his head.  "Not in the character himself. But I would still want you to fill in more of the background around him."

 

Justin nodded.  "The train depot, and maybe some of the other passengers boarding?  And a couple of the porters, and the steps for embarking and disembarking?  Those sorts of details?  What about the depot itself?  I have some ideas for that, too.  Maybe one of the trains leaving the station, and the steam rising from the locomotive?" 

 

Brian chuckled.  "You've been giving this a lot of thought.  But sometimes there can be _too_ much detail. That can detract from what you want the reader to focus on. Let me show you."  Moving the table temporarily out of the way, he edged his chair closer to Justin's, finding it impossible not to notice how his companion's hair almost glowed under the sunlight streaming in, or how smooth his skin was; a stark contrast to the dirty, haggard-looking street creature that had first arrived.  He had never realized, too, the exquisite shape of his ears, or the long lashes that covered his cheekbones as Justin studied the drawing, his head slightly bowed as he did so.  And his scent; he wasn't sure where it came from - no doubt, something that Vic had found for him, or maybe it was just _him_ \- but it was...alluring; intoxicating.   He found himself finding it hard to concentrate on the task at hand as Justin - sensing his hesitation - raised his head to meet Brian's gaze, his face now merely inches from his.  Brian's eyes slowly drifted down to admire the full, pink lips that were so enticing as he leaned in closer, his mind intent on one thing...only to pull back as Justin's eyes widened in surprise, and he realized what he was about to do.  _What in the hell?_ He quickly regrouped, pulling himself up straighter in his chair where it as ‘safer.'

 

"Uh...well..."  He reached down to point at the illustration, deliberating casting his eyes downward at the sketch, rather than the artist.  He couldn't risk peering back into those sapphire-colored orbs, or those lips, or he knew he would be lost. This was supposed to be a professional, working relationship.  Justin was just a kid, for God's sake!  What was happening to him?  He had to exhibit some self-control.  "I wouldn't draw the depot in the photo, or too many people.  Maybe just a few other passengers nearby with their children, waiting to board, and a porter or two near the train's steps.  But too much detail would diminish the main character's importance. Does that make sense?"  At last, he dared lift his eyes to peer into Justin's, feeling his heart thumping in his chest.  He noticed Justin swallow hard before he steeled his features and nodded. 

 

"Yes, of course. That makes sense," he told him, the blond's voice hitching slightly.  "I'll work on adding some of what you mentioned, while still making sure that your main character receives the most attention."  He moistened his lips, unaware of what that was doing to his companion, who couldn't help fantasizing about what those lips might be capable of doing, or what they might taste like. 

 

Brian forced himself to concentrate on what Justin was saying as he nodded.  "Yes, exactly."  With great reluctance, he rose to his feet.  "I'd best get back to my writing," he told the younger man.  "I am very pleased with what you've drawn so far," he assured him, as Justin smiled with a nod.  "Try to do some more embellishment of the overall scene without making it too overwhelming, and I'll come back in later to see how you're doing."  He smirked. "Or...I have a feeling you'll be visiting ME once you're done with the additions." 

 

Justin impishly smiled, raising his eyebrows.  "You never know." He paused.  "Would...would you mind?  I mean, I wouldn't want to disturb your writing." 

 

Brian headed toward the door, his heart still beating erratically.  Turning to peer back at Justin, he responded, "No...I wouldn't mind it all.  You're a...pleasant diversion."  He paused.  "I had forgotten how nice that can be.  If you want to visit me, you know where to find me," he added, as he turned around and left the room.

    

 


	8. Desire and Resentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin continues to heal as he and Brian's relationship deepens. But will everyone approve?

_Same Time, Downstairs Servant Quarters..._

"Are you positive?" Isabel Bowman, one of Brian's house maids, exclaimed in surprise.  Her blond hair - twisted into a casual bun and secured by a large barrette - bobbed slightly as she talked with her breakfast companion, Temperance Brewer, the housekeeper who was in charge of all the other cleaning women.

 

The older woman's lips compressed into a hard line. "Are you questioning me?" 

 

Temperance hastily backed off. "No, no...but..."

 

"I heard it from my own Henry," Temperance declared, interrupting her.  "He went upstairs to gather the linens for today's laundry and saw them together in Master Kinney's room.  They were laughing and carrying on while they were looking at something on his desk. Sitting side-by-side close together, they were, their shoulders touching," she added, a scowl on her face.  "And listen to this! The little street urchin was wearing new clothes from Barrington's down the street!  Trust me, I know what that would have cost."  In addition to managing the household staff, as the housekeeper she was also responsible for handling the finances for her employer.  She had seen the ridiculously high amounts he paid to maintain his penchant for always wearing the latest fashion style.

 

Scooting back from her plain wooden chair, Isabel grabbed both her and her companion's china plates to carry them over to the sink.  Despite her uneasiness regarding their conversation - tinged with a little fear for her superior's temper and dour demeanor - she couldn't help pointing out, "But I thought Master Kinney had borrowed some of your husband's clothes for him?"

 

Temperance turned her nose up and huffed.  "Not anymore.  I guess Henry's servant clothes weren't good enough for him.  Wonder what he said or did to deserve it?  I don't know for sure, of course..."  She huffed. "But I think I can guess. Probably the same thing he's been doing to survive out there in the cold."  She shuddered.  "He's nothing but a heister. And a perverted one to boot." 

 

Isabel's blue eyes grew wide as saucers as she hissed, "Don't _say_ that!  Master Kinney's been very generous with us.  We even get every Sunday off!  None of the others I talk to at the market receive that. And he's a very private man. If he knew we were discussing any of this..."

 

The housekeeper scoffed, undeterred. "I'll overlook you being insubordinate to me this time, Missy.  But you needn't worry; I plan on keeping my job," her companion stated.  "I can maintain the highest degree of discretion when needed." She shook her head.  "I just think it's abominable, that's all.  It's not natural.  And...and this boy..."  She paused.  "Well, he seems to be navigating around quite well now, so he should be back where he belongs soon.  He won't be taking advantage of this household much longer."  She rose to her feet.  "I'd best be getting the dusting done," she decided, wrapping her white apron around her ample waist and tying it behind her back.  "But I told Henry to keep a close watch on that waif for our own protection.  There are a lot of valuables here in this house."

 

Isabel nodded silently, holding her breath until Temperance was gone before she let out a sigh of her own.  Shaking her own head in disgust, she cleared off the rest of the china and headed toward the sink.

* * *

_Brian's Study - Three Days Later..._

 

"But why?" 

 

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose with his long fingers, feeling a headache approaching.  He had decided that Justin was the most talented and intuitive illustrator he had ever worked with, but he had also concluded that he was the most stubborn person he had ever met.  "I guess if I told you, ‘ _because I said so, and I'm the head of this household,_ ' that wouldn't be good enough."   He rolled his eyes as Justin grinned back at him and shook his head, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.  The two of them had been meeting every day in Brian's study, either to review Justin's latest sketch for his novelization, or to play a game in the evening to relax.  Now that Justin's ankle and chest had healed sufficiently, he no longer needed to take his medication, so Brian had been indulging him with a little nip of sherry at night; a liqueur that the young man had found quite tasty.  Now, he was requesting something riskier than imbibing in a little alcohol.  "I didn't think so," Brian finally replied in resignation.  "I guess I'm surprised you haven't tried it on your own yet."

 

"I did," was the surprising answer as Justin scowled.  "But your bloodhound stopped me before I could even get down the first step." 

 

Brian chuckled.  "Bloodhound?  I'll have to tell Vic that. I don't think he's ever been compared to a dog before." 

 

"Well, it was like he appeared out of nowhere," Justin reported.  "I don't see what the big deal is.  I can hold onto the banister on the way down, and the pain's almost all gone now.  I want to see the rest of your house.  I feel like Rapunzel trapped in her castle tower up here," he groused. 

 

"Well, your blond hair isn't quite _that_ long," Brian teased, grinning at the annoyed expression on Justin's face.  He peered into Justin's face, somehow finding the strength to suppress his desire to run his fingers through the shoulder-length hair that looked so soft.  Every day he was with this young man, his imagination took flight about what he would like to do, or have done, by him, and it was all he could do to control his urges.  He wasn't even sure WHY he just didn't act upon his feelings.  It never would have occurred to him to even consider it before. But then again, he had never had a situation like this happen, either; not where someone appeared virtually out of nowhere and became a long-term resident of his home.  He had yet to figure out exactly what role Justin was playing in his life, but he knew each day his feelings deepened for him. 

 

"You can't watch me forever," Justin stated, bringing Brian out of his reverie. 

 

"I don't need to," Brian pointed out with a smirk.  "Haven't you noticed I have a lot of waitstaff to attend to my every need?" 

 

"Yeah...I met one the day your carriage wheel rolled over me." 

 

Brian snorted.  "That _‘woe is me'_ speech again?  It didn't get my sympathy then, and it won't now."

 

Justin glowered at him, knowing the truth behind Brian's words. "Well, we've been working on your novel for four hours straight now." 

 

"And your point is? Some days I barely leave this room." 

 

"My hand is cramping up.  I need to rest it. And... I'm getting hungry." 

 

Brian chuckled.  "I was waiting for that. There's the _real_ reason. You just smell Debbie cooking supper.  You know, she hasn't prepared such fancy dishes since Mark Twain came to visit us last year.  Had a sharp wit about him...and an appetite to match yours.  For a humorist, though, he was a bit too countrified for my taste."  He observed with a faint smile of remembrance, "He could be very entertaining, but if he knew the type of company I keep, his sense of morality surely would have been offended."  Brian gazed into the expressive blue eyes of his companion, who was staring back at him wide-eyed with intense attention.  It was as if Justin hung on every word he said, and he found it just a bit unnerving.  It also invariably made his heart race.

 

Justin's mouth hung open.  "Mark Twain stayed here?" 

 

 

Brian smiled.  "Several times.  He went through some rough patches, and it was far cheaper to mooch off my hospitality than seek out accommodations at the hotel down the street."  He shrugged.  "No matter. I certainly had the room...in fact, he normally preferred your bedroom for his stays. He liked the view from there, also. Said it gave him inspiration."

 

"I'm sleeping in the same bed as he did?" 

 

Brian laughed at the awe in Justin's voice.  "Yes.  Along with a lot of other writers," he disclosed.  "But don't worry; the laundry maid cleans the sheets daily...and there's a limit of one man in the bed at a time, so you're safe for the time being."  He watched as Justin blushed deeply at his statement before finally coming to a decision.  "I suppose we have been at it for a long time...all right, then." 

 

Justin's eyebrows rose.  "All right... what?" 

 

"I know you. Since you are so joe-fired to sneak down there, you may head downstairs on one condition." 

 

Justin crossed his arms across his chest, his sketching pencil sticking out between two fingers "What?  I need permission?  Or you're going to have Vic _carry_ me down?" 

 

Brian grinned at the suspicion written clearly on Justin's face. "I should," he declared.  "But luckily for you, he has other responsibilities this evening.  No, I'll let you go downstairs only if I accompany you to make sure you don't take a tumble. You do tend to be accident-prone." 

 

He laughed as Justin bristled.  "I am NOT ‘accident prone'!  How many times do I have to tell you what happened?"

 

"I know, I know," Brian interjected as he held his hands up, unable to stop laughing.  He loved to get Justin riled up.  "I was just teasing you." 

 

Justin rolled his eyes.  "Well...I still don't need some babysitter." 

 

"I suppose not," Brian replied softly, somehow knowing the truth in Justin's statement.  But it still didn't keep him from feeling protective toward him anyway.  _The thought of something else happening to him..._ "Well, regardless, I am going with you.  I may even eat a bite or two myself." 

 

"A bite or two is right.  Debbie told me that you don't eat enough." 

 

Brian grinned.  "Oh, she did, did she?"  Justin nodded.  "The things the wait staff say when I'm not in hearing range. Well, you make up for it, though."  He remarked as Justin promptly picked up a heavy, metal ink blotter and cocked his arm back, ready to take aim at him.  "Hey!" he shouted.  "Don't you dare!"

 

Justin's eyes twinkled as his hand began a forward motion as if he were serious - before Brian's fingers firmly wrapped themselves around his wrist to stop him...and Justin's heart seemed to stop at the same time, also, the instant they made contact with his skin.  It was as if his skin were on fire as the two of them stared at each other in a silent battle of wills, their faces inches apart. 

 

Brian noticed Justin reach his tongue out slightly to wet his lips, his eyes focusing on the plump, lower lip.  He was nervous as hell for some reason, and that NEVER happened to him when it came to making advances toward his prey.  But ‘prey' seemed much too petty a word when it came to this young man.  "Justin..." he whispered as the blond's eyes widened slightly over the husky tone in his voice.  "Have you ever been with a man before?" 

 

Justin choked at the question, the blotter still hanging clutched in his hand.  "Wh....what?" 

 

Brian's eyes slowly lifted to meet a pair of blue ones, allowing him to gain a bit of time before he spoke again.  "I said...Have you ever ‘been' with a man before?  Desired one?  Kissed one?"  _God, how he wanted to do that right now...those lips..._  

 

Justin bit his lower lip, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest.  "N...no...not like that," he finally stammered in reply, Brian now leaving no doubt what he was asking...or what he was wanting. The same thing HE was wanting.  Without thinking, his mouth parted slightly, causing Brian's eyes to darken.   

 

"Not been...but wanted to?" Brian pressed as he pried the blotter from Justin's grip and set it down on the felt desk top.  "Because I want nothing more than to kiss you right now.  Will you grant me that?"  _Damnation, what was wrong with him?  He would have never asked before..._ As he spoke, he slowly leaned in closer, peering into Justin's eyes and watching them dilate into a deeper shade of their normal sky blue...hopefully indicating desire for him.  But he never took what wasn't freely given to him, and as much as he wanted this, he wouldn't change that now.  So he wanted for what seemed like an eternity - but was only a few seconds - before he finally received a slight nod in response. 

 

Their shoulders touching, Brian reached over slowly and feathered the hair at the back of Justin's nape - finding it as soft as he had thought it would be.  Cupping his hand around the other man's slender neck, he slowly pulled Justin's head toward his, tilting his head as his lips came into contact with his companion's.  Surprisingly - despite Justin having spent so much time on the unforgiving streets of Pittsburgh - his lips were warm and soft, the lower one plump and inviting.  He gently pressed his lips against Justin's as the blond's eyes fluttered shut.  Mostly a chaste kiss, Brian leaned back slightly to wait until Justin had opened his eyes, seeing both surprise as well as acceptance there - before he caught his lower lip and suckled it, hearing Justin's breath catch in response. His tongue reached out to swipe across Justin's mouth before - with great reluctance - he pulled back, afraid to pursue anything else for fear of frightening him away.  He leaned back - his hand still wrapped lightly around Justin's neck - as he asked, "Did you like that?" 

 

Justin seemed to have a slightly dazed look on his face, making Brian smile in amusement, before Justin returned his smile and nodded shyly.  "Yes... Yes, I did.  Can you kiss me again?" he asked. 

 

Brian grinned. "I think that can be arranged."  The two men leaned closer - this time with Brian's intention to demonstrate what a REAL kiss would feel like, not how this initial, experimental one had been - when all of a sudden both men jumped at the sound of Debbie's voice booming from below.

 

"Meal's ready!"  Debbie announced, standing at the bottom of the steps, a wooden spoon grasped in her hand, her apron smudged with flour.  When Debbie prepared meals, she immersed herself in her task - literally.  "I've got meat and vegetable pie, lima beans, fresh bread, and lemon custard!" she declared, knowing that her homemade savory pie was one of Brian's favorites. And Justin...well, the young man hadn't met a meal he didn't like yet.  Normally, she waited for Brian to indicate he was ready to eat by the sound of the brass bell he kept on his desk; although, he often complained that it made him feel like some ‘damn ship captain,' as he often put it. But how else was she supposed to know he was ready to eat?  If it was left up to HIM, once he became engrossed in his latest work, it might be hours before he thought about eating.

 

Brian sighed in frustration, brushing his fingers through his hair and tousling it.  "You heard the head of the household," he replied with a smirk.  "At least _she_ seems to think so."  Justin - cheeks flushed from their kiss - smiled back at him and nodded, relieved in a way that what he had just asked would not be fulfilled.  _What had he been thinking?_

 

"Come on.  We'll surprise Debbie by both of us coming down there to eat...that IS what you wanted, right?" 

 

Justin gave him an exasperated look.  "You have to ask?" 

 

Brian grinned.  "No," he admitted as he slid his mahogany chair back from the desk and rose to his feet.  "Let's go, then."  He held his hand out toward Justin, who - after a moment's thought - gripped the other man's hand and - using his cane in the other - let Brian help pull him to his feet.  "Leave the cane here," he was instructed.  "You won't need it. I'll help you."

 

Sliding his arm around Justin's waist, Brian thought he felt Justin shiver.  "Are you cold?" 

 

Justin blushed as he turned his eyes away.  "No...I'm fine." 

 

Brian hesitated for a few moments before nodding as they silently made a steady progression toward the door and then down the hallway to reach the top of the steps.  "Easy," Brian reminded Justin as the two of them paused.  "Make sure you grasp the bannister," he told him as he continued to support him around the waist.   

 

Justin would have normally issued some sort of snappy retort to Brian's solicitous comment and rolled his eyes, but he was too preoccupied with the feeling of the other man's hand around his waist - and the emotions it was engendering.  He could also swear his lips were still tingling from their kiss earlier.  If just one small kiss from Brian could make him feel the way he did now, he could only imagine what a more passionate one would feel like!  He shivered again at the thought as he finally peered over at the other man.  "I'm fine," he insisted again a little more firmly before Brian had a chance to repeat his earlier question.  He curled his right hand around the polished oak of the bannister before he took a tentative step on his good leg, then stepped down gingerly on the other one, feeling Brian tighten his grip on his waist as he did so. 

 

"Okay so far?" Brian asked as Justin nodded, swallowing hard. It was still stiff from lack of use, but not especially painful. 

 

"Yeah," he croaked out hoarsely as Brian hesitated again, assuming he was questioning the wisdom of such a decision.  "Go," he told him sharply. "I said I can handle it." 

 

His companion sighed heavily then.  "Okay, then... you stubborn, obstinate..." Brian muttered under his breath as he shook his head.  Nevertheless, he did as Justin requested, the two of them slowly making their way down the steps until at last they reached the landing below.

 

It was Justin's first chance to get a good glance at the main floor, since the only other time he had been dow n here had been right after the accident.  The house was festively decorated for the holiday season, but tastefully so.  A fresh pine wreath was hung over the tall, wooden, front door, and in a corner of the foyer there was a tall evergreen, decorated with glass baubles of deep blue and silver, along with wax angels wearing gossamer wings.  Ivory-colored candles - attached with metal clips to strong tree branches - were gracefully interspersed throughout, and a large, silver star stood watch at the top, the tree blanketed at the bottom with an ivory cloth to hide the bucket holding it in place.  The artist inside him was awed by the elegance and simplicity.  "That is beautiful," he murmured. 

 

Brian shrugged.  "It's more Debbie's doing than mine," he explained.  "She has always been the unofficial Christmas decorator in the house; even when my father was alive, he permitted it - just as I do - not so much because he wanted all the frill and pomp, but mainly because Debbie and the other servants wanted it."  He studied the tree, adorned with many ornaments that had been used for years now.  "My father was never one to shower me with gifts.  He told me once that my mother would have been just the opposite...but I never really missed having any presents, since I've never known anything else."

 

Justin frowned as he turned to look at him. "It never bothered you that you never received any Christmas presents?  My parents always gave Molly and me at least one special gift for Christmas, even though we didn't have a lot of money."  He smiled wistfully.  "But there was always a lot of love in our house, and it didn't matter if the gifts were expensive or not. My father was a wonderful woodworker and would often make our presents himself. He even initialed them on the bottom:  LMT - Lawrence Morgan Taylor. They were very special."  His eyes misted over as he admitted, "I would give anything right now to have something that he had made.  We weren't allowed to take anything like that with us when we were placed in the orphanage." 

 

"I'm sorry, Justin... That must have really hurt." 

 

"Yeah...it did," he admitted.  He took a deep breath.  "But you can't go back in time.  I still have the good memories, and I can see them in my mind's eye so clearly that I can still draw them.  I just wish I could see my sister. This time of year is when I miss her the most, along with her birthday."  He revealed, "Her birthday is on New Year's Day, so my parents used to tell her that everyone on the street was celebrating her birthday right when the clock struck midnight.  It was only later when she got older that she realized why they were REALLY celebrating.  The look on her face when she found out was priceless..."  His voice trailed off, a lump forming in his throat. 

 

"Justin...?"  Brian felt horrible bringing the subject of Christmas up, since it obviously had made Justin recall happier times...times he would never have again.  He reached over and squeezed Justin's shoulder, receiving a wan smile in return.  He noticed his companion's expression change, however, as he peered around him to look at something in the parlor. 

 

Justin stood there frozen for a few seconds, amazed by all the artwork in gilded frames and the tapestries hanging in the parlor directly off the hallway that included a brick fireplace with an imposing painting of a stern-looking but distinguished older man, sitting on a maroon-colored sofa.  Justin gasped.  "That's my cane!" he exclaimed.  He began to pull Brian toward the room, despite the enticing smells coming from the kitchen, his previous melancholy at least temporarily forgotten.

 

"Justin..."  Brian shook his head and sighed as the blond pulled on his shirt sleeve toward the other room, knowing there would be no persuading his guest to abandon his goal of scrutinizing the object further.  Soon, they stood a few feet away from the large portrait, Justin marveling at the person's artistic talent, as well as the subject himself.  The man in the painting was sitting with perfect posture on the piece of furniture, his right hand curled around the golden handle of the cane, a large, garnet ring adorning his fourth finger.  He was clothed in fine fabrics:  a white, silk shirt with light gray vest and black trousers; his black boots peeking out below were highly polished.  A couple of books sat lying at the other end of the sofa.  Except for the beard that was neatly manicured, he was the spitting image of an older Brian. 

 

"This is your father," Justin stated emphatically, one hand lightly tracing the brushstrokes of the piece while he held onto the fireplace mantel with his other hand for support.  He turned his head to peer over at Brian a few feet away.  "That's his cane you let me borrow, right?  And he looks just like you; only older." Brian narrowed his brows at him in indignation as he hastily added, "He must be...what?  In his sixties or seventies here?"

 

Brian smirked.  "Glad you noticed the age difference."  He nodded. "Yes...when this was painted, he would have been in his early sixties."  A shadow of sadness appeared on his face as his expression changed.

 

"What?" Justin asked, immediately noticing.

 

Brian shook his head.  "It's nothing..."  He sighed as Justin raised his eyebrows at him.  He peered up at the image of his father, looking so prim and proper in his pose.  "I miss him, just like you miss _your_ family.  My mother died at childbirth, so I never really got to know her.  I was pretty much been raised by nannies during my childhood.  But my father...I know he looks very stern in this picture - and believe me, he could be very authoritarian when the need arose - usually when I misbehaved," Brian admitted, evoking a smile from Justin.  "But he was always fair and kind.  A disciplinarian and a firm believer in working hard and giving it your best - but he devoted as much time as he could to me.  And without his support, I would have never pursued my talent as a writer.  Most people scoffed at the thought.  You made your living as a banker or a merchant, or a craftsman; not as a writer.  But he always made sure I had books on hand to quench my love of reading, and that, in turn, led to me trying to write my own works.  And he encouraged me to never stop trying.  So much so, that when I first started receiving reject letters from publishers I didn't give up.  I _couldn't_ give up, because he had instilled such determination in me." 

 

Justin's voice was soft. "What happened to him?"

 

Brian's eyes watered as he held back the tears. He normally wasn't an emotional person - he had inherited much the same traits as his father when it came hiding how he felt, as well as his self-discipline and work ethic - but as he gazed up into the hazel eyes in the portrait, it brought back all the good memories he had experienced with him.  He cleared his throat before explaining, "He died several years ago when I was in my early twenties.  A train accident."  He smiled in reminiscence. "He loved to travel by train on business; he liked the sound of the steam whistle, and the scenery while sitting in the Pullman car.  He loved to talk with other businessman who would be on the train, too; he developed a lot of contacts that way. He was the owner of several mercantile ventures around the state, and typically used the train to travel from town to town.  Someone had forgotten to switch the track that day... and his train and another one hit head-on.  My father was in the first-class car near the front, and from what I was told most likely died instantly, along with the engineer, conductor, and several other passengers."   He inhaled a deep breath and let it out, noticing Justin eyeing him with sympathy.  He shook his head.  "It's okay; at least he didn't suffer, and thanks to his shrewdness, I was left in good stead financially.  Plus, I had his staff to help take care of the household.  A lot of the ones I have now used to work for him, also, including Vic and Debbie." 

 

Justin nodded.  He smiled at the thought of the two people he had become quite fond of.  "I like them." 

 

Brian smiled. "Me, too.  And more importantly, I trust them implicitly."  He lowered his voice.  "Just don't tell THEM that. They may ask for an increase in compensation." 

 

Justin grinned back at him.  "My lips are sealed. But I can't wait to finally see your cook in action." 

 

Brian smirked as he reached to slide his arm back around Justin's waist.  "Be careful what you wish for. When she's working, anything could fly past your head... including her rolling pin if you dare to not compliment her profusely on her meal."  Justin laughed as Brian added, "I don't think that will be a problem with you, though. But she's threatened ME with it several times."  He shrugged.  "I know when to duck... but so far, she's hasn't carried out her threat." 

 

Justin chuckled, smiling broadly back at Brian.  He noticed the other man's eyes widen slightly in reaction before he left go of the mantel with his one hand and began to swivel around to head back toward the doorway. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain shoot up his injured foot as he bore more weight on it and it threatened to give way...only for Brian to grab both his wrists to support him.  The air burst out of his lungs as Brian pulled his body firmly against his and wrapped both arms around his waist, so they were nearly nose-to-nose, Justin's hands coming to rest, palms down, on the other man's chest.  Justin's breathing became erratic as his entire body tingled in reaction to being wrapped in Brian's grasp.  Brian's arm resting around his waist as he guided him down the steps and into the parlor was _nothing_ compared to the sensation of being held firmly in his arms, and he knew his body would quickly betray his desire for him.  Before he could pull back and create some much-needed space between them, however, he could clearly feel evidence of the same feelings in _Brian_ : in the way his breathing became ragged, his eyes darkened, and his dick straining within his trousers.  He recalled their kiss earlier, so he knew Brian was attracted to him. But until now, he had no idea how it would make him feel to be so close to him, to be surrounded by him.  It excited him.  But it also frightened him.

 

Brian reluctantly loosened his grip on Justin a little as he retreated slightly to peer into the flushed face staring back at him.  _This is just a kid_ , he told himself.  He couldn't get involved in this way with someone so young; someone who was totally unexperienced.  Justin was barely of legal age.  He had never lain with a man so young as he, or someone who was so naïve about the techniques of sexual gratification.  Yes, they were partners in his latest writing venture.  And the kiss had been quite pleasurable, he had to admit. But it had to stop here.  This was a temporary arrangement between them.  A business arrangement.  He cleared his throat.

 

"Uhh...Debbie doesn't like it if her food gets cold.  We'd better head into the dining room before she comes searching for us," he offered by way of explanation for their separation.  He slid his arm back around Justin's waist like before.  "You think you can stand now on the foot without the cane?  Maybe this was a bad idea. I don't want this to be a setback for your recovery. I can have Debbie bring you a tray in here." 

 

Justin shook his head firmly.  "No way am I missing out on this!  I'm fine. It was just a momentary pang.  And...I can smell something wonderful coming from down the hall."  He looked up into Brian's eyes as he pleaded, "Brian, please let me do this." 

 

Brian paused for a few moments before he nodded, knowing for some reason this was important to Justin.  "Okay...but if it gets worse, that's it.  No more weight on that foot, got it?" 

 

Justin nodded as the two of them exited the parlor and carefully made their way down the hallway toward the dining room.  The clinking of glassware and china could be heard, along with Debbie's booming voice scolding one of the housemaids who hadn't put on her white apron before bringing out the dishes to be served.  "Go ahead and put it down," she told Temperance.  "No sense in taking it back to the kitchen just because you forgot your apron." 

 

"Yes, Ma'am," Temperance told her, finding it hard to keep her irritation in check as she set the main entrée down in the middle of the table.  Sometimes their cook was TOO regimental.  She stopped in her tracks, however, as she turned to leave, noticing her employer heading toward them...along with their wayward guest.  She had to struggle to keep her mouth from gaping open at the expensive-looking clothing the stranger was wearing.  Henry had been right; the boy was dressed casually but with the finest of fabrics; and from the look of them, her master must have had his tailor come here to the house personally to custom fit them, because it looked like they were made especially for the blond.  She had to admit; he was very beautiful.  She could see how Master Kinney would find some prurient interest in him.  But the boy had remained here for almost two weeks now and seemed to be maneuvering quite well with her employer's help.  He was certainly taking advantage of his fortuitous accident.

 

"Oh, my!  Look who's here!" Debbie exclaimed, pressing her hand against her ample bosom.  Her face broke out into a delighted smile.  "You walked all the way down the steps?"  Justin nodded as she pressed her lips together, her brows creased together in concern.  "Is that wise, Justin?  You could have fallen and reinjured that foot!" 

 

"Hey!  I'm here, too!" Brian growled.  "Do you really think I'd let him walk down the stairs alone?  I held onto him, and he gripped the bannister on the way down.  I made sure that he kept as little weight off the foot as possible.  And it wasn't MY idea to come downstairs for our meal!" 

 

"Yes, it was," Justin pointed out.  "You asked me if I would like to surprise De..."

 

"Oh, just never mind," Brian hastily interrupting, sounding flustered as Debbie peered over at him in surprise.  "I'll need another place setting arranged next to mine." 

 

Debbie grinned.  "You heard the man, Temperance!" she barked at the housemaid as the woman stood there gawking and unmoving.  She technically wasn't the woman's superior, but there was something about this haughty woman's demeanor that riled her up. "Go and fetch another place setting for Justin!" 

 

"Yes, ma'am," Temperance finally bit out, an edge of steel in her voice.  Her blazing, dark-green eyes bored into Justin's when the others weren't looking - causing the young man to flinch slightly at the look on her face, one he could only describe as disdain - before she turned on her heels and tramped out of the room, her clunky uniform shoes reverberating on the oak floor.

 

"Justin?"  Brian arched an eyebrow at his companion as he noticed him standing with his hands grasping the back of the chair.  "Everything okay?"   

 

Justin turned around to peer over at Brian before nodding; he wouldn't allow this unpleasant woman to spoil his achievement - or this escape from his upstairs confinement.  He pulled out his chair and slid into it, gazing in awe at the elaborate centerpiece situated on the massive table.  

 

TBC...


	9. Investigation of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian ponders his feelings as he gives someone an important assignment; trouble brews in the household.

Since Justin's appearance at the dinner table, he had become a regular fixture there, even providing the motivation for Brian to join him for both breakfast and supper, even though he still did not eat nearly as abundantly as his guest.  But their easy rapport and bantering back and forth did not go unnoticed by the staff, particularly Debbie and Vic, who exchanged knowing looks between them, unbeknownst to the two men.

* * *

 

"Don't you all have something better to do with your time?" Debbie berated the three female waitstaff huddled together by the sink after Brian and Justin had finished their most recent meal and headed back up the steps.  She stared over at the three, instinctively knowing they were doing more than just washing dishes.  She couldn't make out their hushed whispers, but she DID know that two of them were assigned other duties. 

 

Temperance bestowed a steely gaze upon the headstrong, opinionated woman.  "Managing the others is MY job, Chef," she replied curtly.  "Yours is to do the cooking."  She despised how this woman reported directly to the master of the house, rather than to her, but it had been that way ever since she had come under Brian Kinney's employ. 

 

Debbie, however, was undeterred.  "Well, then, why don't you do it?"  Her eyes bore into the other woman's in a duel of wills before Temperance finally looked away with a huff, the sharp lines on her brow clearly expressing her displeasure.

 

"Bridget, see to the dusting," she instructed one of the other ladies in a cold voice.  "And Evelyn, the laundry is waiting."  The two women glanced between their superior and Debbie before nodding with a murmured "Yes, Ma'am," and scurrying away, more than happy to leave such a tense situation. 

 

Temperance waited until the two women were gone before turning to confront her adversary.  "You are NOT the head of this household, _Cook_!  You have no right to dictate to me how I run this residence!" 

 

Debbie barked out an indignant laugh.  "My name is Mrs. Novotny!  And the only thing YOU run here is your _mouth_!  Gossiping behind other's backs is disrespectful!"  It wasn't the first time over the years that Debbie had seen Temperance whispering in a corner, her eyes peering surreptitiously at something she apparently considered ill-mannered, prurient, or boorish.  To Debbie's consternation, the prudish woman had managed so far to muffle the words she spoke to others; but it didn't take much imagination to discern what type of speech in which she was engaging.  She just managed to speak her mind in such a way that no one could ever prove it. But each time the master of the house brought in a male ‘guest,' she saw the brief look of horror and disgust in the prim woman's eyes before it was replaced with a mask of civility.  She had tried at some point to discuss it with Brian; but he had shrugged it off, telling her that as long as the woman did her work - and did it efficiently - he didn't give a damn _what_ her views on morality were.  He wouldn't change his lifestyle or what he did simply based upon someone else's definition of ‘proper decorum.' 

 

Debbie had a hard time accepting that; but in the end, her affection for Brian overruled her contempt for the other woman, so she instead opted to keep a close eye on her, hoping that one day she would have enough ammunition to have the woman dispatched once and for all.  Today had been no exception; she was positive that the women were discussing their view of Brian's relationship with the young ward who had been staying with them for the past few weeks, no doubt imagining all sorts of activities occurring in the privacy of their employer's bedroom.  Debbie could already tell there was something different about Brian's attitude toward this vibrant, personable, young man; but what he did or did not do in his own residence - and in his bed - was of no concern to her, as it should be the same with the others.  Biting her tongue for now, then, she strove to always keep a vigilant eye on Temperance in hopes that one day all of her suspicions would be proven true.  Because she _also_ knew one thing:  Brian would take her at her word, no matter what she told him.  Her ruminating was abruptly interrupted when the subject of her thoughts spoke up again.

 

"You have no idea what I was addressing with MY waitstaff!" Temperance pointed out, her hands on her hips and her eyes blazing.  "So, I would suggest you mind your own business, and I will take care of my _own_ responsibilities!  Yours is to _cook_ ," she reminded Debbie, her voice dripping with disdain over the last word, as if it were a simple task in such a large household.  "Not to tell me how to instruct the housekeeping staff!" 

 

Debbie shook her head in disgust.  "I'm putting you on notice, Temperance," she fought back, suddenly realizing the appropriateness of the woman's name. She was anything BUT tolerate when it came to actions that she felt were not ‘proper.'  "If I ever hear you say _anything_ about Brian - or his guest - that is none of your business and not related to your duties, he WILL hear about it!"

 

Undaunted, Temperance harrumphed.  "Threatening me will come back to haunt you!" she warned. "You are no match for me.  Master Kinney can find a cook anywhere!  People like me are very valuable and hard to find in upscale residences," she haughtily bragged.  To her surprise, her declaration was met with a hearty laugh from Debbie, making her inwardly question her confidence, but she managed to keep her doubt from appearing on her face.

 

Debbie smiled at the woman.  "Holier-than-thou people like you only serve to tear a household apart!  Just watch your words, woman.  I'm listening...and one day you will slip up and regret you ever uttered a single word from your mouth!  Now get out of MY kitchen!"  She screeched in fury.  She let out a deep breath as the other woman - with one, final glare of hatred - turned on her heels and headed out of the room.  Debbie could almost see the steam rising as a result of the other woman's ire as she turned and placed a cast-iron tea kettle on the stove.  She needed some chamomile to calm her nerves.  Sitting down a few minutes later with her cup of hot brew, she momentarily closed her eyes, savoring the temporary calm before what she suspected would be a big storm erupting sometime soon. 

* * *

_Brian's Study - Mid-Afternoon_

Sitting at his desk with his manuscript lying beside him, Brian glanced up at the clock located on the opposite wall, noting that it was nearing 2:00 p.m.  He cleared his throat, causing Justin - who was sitting across from him - to peer over at him, his pencil poised between his fingers.  He raised his eyebrows in silent question.  

 

"Uh...Justin...we'll have to continue this at a later time," Brian told him.  "I have a business appointment in about ten minutes.  Maybe later this evening?" 

 

A little flustered by the unexpected dismissal, as well as a little disappointed that his and Brian's daily ritual was being cut short, he politely nodded.  "Of course," he told him, beginning to gather up his supplies as he slid back from his chair.  "I can work on this some more in my room."  Brian nodded as he asked, "You'll let me know when you're free?  It always helps me to work along with you in case I have questions I need answered about any changes you want." 

 

Brian smiled.  "Yes, I'll let you know," he told him, certain that Justin really didn't need his input about his illustrations.  He had already read the entire first part of the serialization, and somehow always managed to interpret what he wanted so exquisitely. 

 

Justin nodded back at him once more before turning to leave the room.  "See you later," he told Brian, who nodded in affirmation, earning a return smile.  Hesitating for just a moment as he stood in the hallway, Justin decided to head up to the attic instead of his bedroom.  Despite Brian's admonition before about not venturing out onto the roof, he found a fascination from viewing the cityscape from that vantage point.  A light rain had fallen just before dawn, filling the air with freshness and vitality.  He loved the smell right after a rain, as well as how the trees, shrubbery, and flowers sparkled from the raindrops like millions of tiny diamonds.  The only thing he regretted was that he couldn't quite capture that image now with just a simple, graphite pencil, and the time of day, but he was grateful just the same for the magnificent view.  The weather was unusually warm, too, so like a magnet attracting metal - pencil and journal in hand - he reached the door to the attic stairs, and with a grasp of the crystal doorknob, he opened the door and began his ascent.

 

As Justin left the room, Brian poked his head around the door from his study, hoping his guest wouldn't go to his room as he had indicated, but somewhere else.   Grinning when his surmising turned out to be right, he waited until he heard Justin walking up the creaky stairs to the attic before quietly treading down the hallway toward Justin's room.  A minute later, he clutched what he had been seeking in his hand, pushing a temporary twinge of guilt aside as he returned to the study.

 

* * *

_A Few Minutes Later..._

Brian firmly shut the door behind him as he followed his guest into the study.  "Robert...thank you for agreeing to come here to see me," he greeted his guest as they shook hands.

 

The tall, gray-haired man - while in his 60's - was still dressed as stylishly as always, Brian noted.  It was one of the things he admired in him.  Robert Fletcher was fastidious to a fault, from his neatly trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard, to the white square of cloth folded perfectly into the pocket of his black suit.  Brian had never seen the man wearing anything but his best; he had known the older man ever since his father had retained him for an investigation regarding his business affairs, suspecting possible fraud with one of his employees.  It turned out his father's instinct had been correct; one of his accountants was pocketing money secretly and adjusting the journal to cover it...until Fletcher rooted him out.  And when his father had passed on, Brian occasionally counted on Fletcher, also, when it came to investigative matters.  Even though the man was older than any other investigators in town, he was in tip-top shape, with a keen wit and a sharp eye for detail.  He was the best at what he did, and Brian fully recognized that.

 

Fletcher doffed his top hat as he replied, "Not at all, my boy.  I'm always glad to help; you know that." 

 

Brian nodded with a polite smile.  "Please...sit down," he instructed him with a wave of his hand. The other man took a seat in one of the leather chairs placed in front of the wall of bookcases.  "Drink?" 

 

The investigator smiled.  "You have to ask? The usual...thank you." 

 

Brian grinned as he reached for a glass decanter filled with premium whiskey and filled a stout glass with the amber liquid.  Pouring one for himself, he handed one to the other man as he sat in the other leather chair beside him. 

 

Fletcher took a good sip of his drink before placing it on the oval table next to his chair. "Ahh...you always have nothing but the best, Brian."

 

Brian smiled.  "That's why YOU'RE here, Robert."  Fletcher tipped his head in acknowledgment before he took one more sip of his drink and set it back down.  "So...what can I help you with this time, Brian?  Another stock certificate search?  Buried treasure hidden down in the cellar?  A dead body in the attic?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

 

Brian winced slightly at the last part, thinking Fletcher was half-right; he knew Justin was up there right now.  _Scamp...he'd better NOT be back on the roof again!_   He cleared his throat as he refocused.  "None of the above," he replied in amusement.  He rose to walk over to his desk and pick up the piece of paper he had retrieved earlier.  "I need your help with this."  He handed the piece of paper to the investigator before retaking his seat nearby. 

 

Fletcher eyed the sketch curiously. It was masterfully done, he thought, as he studied the young girl with a freckled face, her eyes expressive despite the black-and-white portrait, and a glowing smile on her face.  Her hair was casually worn, with strands falling down softly to her shoulders.  "You want me to find this girl?" he finally asked, as he lifted his head to meet Brian's inspection. 

 

Brian nodded.  "Yes. And I need it done quickly, Robert." 

 

Fletcher eyed his companion regretfully as he glanced down once more at the portrait.  "Brian...I have a large caseload...and the holidays..."

 

"I am well aware of that, Robert," Brian replied curtly. "But I don't pay you the outrageous retainer I do for excuses.  This is urgent." He sighed, slightly regretful over the tone of his voice. "Look...this is very important to me.  I will pay double all your expenses if you will make this your top priority." 

 

The older man studied the intense look on his client's face.  "Why is this girl so important to you?" he asked pointedly.  He and Brian had more than just a client-business relationship; he had known the man for years now and had grown quite comfortable speaking his mind. But in all the years he had known him, this was quite unusual.  "I don't understand.  You didn't sire a child out of wedlock, did you?"

 

Brian snorted.  "Hardly.  Unlike some of the aristocracy here in dear, old Pittsburgh, I don't give a damn if another generation carries on my name."

 

Fletcher nodded.  He knew all about Brian's proclivity toward men...and his strong will.  "Okay...it's your business why you're so intent on finding this child.  What can you tell me about her?"  

 

"Her name is Molly Taylor, although she could be going by some other name now.  She was an orphan along with her brother, Justin, after her parents both died from cholera.  A few years after being sent to the orphanage, she and her brother were separated when she was sent out on one of the orphan trains.  I know he4 family used to live on Bechtold Street, and their father's name was Lawrence Morgan Taylor, and he was a wood craftsman.  She has blue eyes and strawberry-blond hair.  That's about all I know."  He peered over at the sketch that Justin had drawn of his younger sister.  Justin hadn't told him about it; for some reason he had chosen to keep it private - Brian had found it one day lying on Justin's bed, his journal open to the page.  But the pain he always heard in Justin's voice whenever he spoke about his sister told him all he needed to know; he obviously missed her desperately.  Now, he was determined to try and help him.  "I want her found, Robert.  I have heard about these hideous orphan trains, and what their _real_ intentions are." 

 

The investigator threaded his hair with his fingers and nodded.  "May I keep this?" 

 

Brian hesitated.  He knew he would no doubt catch hell from Justin if he found out about it. But his determination to try and reunite him with his sister triumphed over his concern as he nodded.  "Yes.  And please keep me regularly updated on your progress.  The faster you find her and bring her here, the more you will be paid."

 

"Bring her here?  You didn't say you wanted her brought here.  If she's been adopted..." 

 

"I don't _care_ if she's been adopted!  Do whatever you have to do - and pay them whatever you have to - to bring her back here _with_ you!  I will provide you initially with more than enough to pay a whole fucking town.  You know how most of these orphan trains work.  They are not interested in adopting a child to nurture them. They want a workhorse, or a house slave, not another member of their _family_!"  He spat the last word out, bile rising in his throat at the thought of how Justin's sister may have been treated - and who she had wound up with. 

 

"Not all of them, Brian..."  Fletcher sighed at the fiery look in the other man's eyes.  "All right, all right.  I'll get right on it and make it a priority. But I may have to oil a lot of people's mouths in order for them to disclose what I need to know." 

 

Brian waved his hand impatiently.  "Yes, yes, I know...confidentiality of records and all that."  He walked over to his desk and pulled out his check register book.  Hurriedly writing out a check to Fletcher, he tore it off the binder and rose from his seat to present it to the investigator.  "This should more than cover whoever chooses to remain tight-lipped, along with any other expenses."

 

Fletcher peered down at the check he was handed, and he couldn't help the small gasp that escaped his mouth.  "Dear Lord, Brian!  You must want to find this child badly!" 

 

Brian's lips were pressed tightly together as he replied simply, "I do.  I expect regular progress reports, and for this to be your only focus until she is found," he added as Fletcher nodded, still dumbstruck. 

 

"Well..."  He cleared his throat, his ability to speak temporarily suppressed.  "Uh...yes.  Yes, of course."  Brian nodded in satisfaction, Fletcher noting what seemed to be relief on his face.  _Just what hold did this young girl have on him?_ he wondered.  But part of his job was discretion, and he innately knew that he had received all the explanation he would get, at least for now.  "I'll get right to work on this."  As Brian moved to follow him to the door, he shook his head with a polite smile.  "I shall show my own way out," he remarked, sliding the now-folded portrait of Molly Taylor and the check into his inside breast pocket. 

 

Doffing his top hat once more, he tipped it once before turning and heading down the hallway toward the steps, leaving Brian standing there, contemplating the implications - and the reason for - what he had done. 

 


	10. End...and Beginning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Justin finish their collaborative project; what happens afterward? And Brian's investigator strikes gold in his search.

Another week had passed - despite the doctor's last visit a few days ago, when he had pronounced Justin's ankle now fully healed - while the two men continued to work on Brian's latest novelization. Both did not mention, nor act upon, their previous kiss from the week before.  However, that did not mean that neither had forgotten it.  Far from it.  But facing a deadline set forth by his publisher, Brian focused hard on the task at hand as did Justin, who enjoyed bringing Brian's characters and scenes to life.  He felt warm inside whenever Brian bestowed a smile on his face after looking at his latest work, obviously pleased with the way he instinctively knew how to depict a scene or a character's expression so precisely to match his words.  It made Justin happy to see how much it pleased him. 

Working quietly together side by side at Brian's desk - Justin now finishing up the last illustration for Brian's book - Brian struck through a couple of paragraphs before chewing his bottom lip in contemplation.  Finally, he nodded imperceptibly in satisfaction before writing the final lines to his work.  Sitting there, staring at the page, he finally took the other sheets and placed them all together in a neat stack, causing Justin to peer over at him, his pencil poised over the sketch he was finishing.  Just a few more strokes, and it would be complete.  "What?" he asked quietly, dreading the answer, because in his heart he knew what Brian was about to say.

 

"It's done," he told Justin with a satisfied smile, making the blond's heart drop.  Brian sighed in relief.  "It's always kind of bittersweet whenever I finish something.  I always think there's more to it that I could elaborate upon. But it's also a feeling of accomplishment."  He barked out a chuckle.  "Plus, my publisher will be delighted to know that I've finished."  He paused.  "How long before your last illustration is done?" he asked, noticing it appeared to be almost complete.  Both he and Justin had been working on their respective parts for the past couple of hours, ever since they had returned from their mid-day tea.

 

Justin could lie - he could tell Brian he wasn't happy with his rendition of the main character's goodbye to his family before he returned home on the train, so he had to ‘start over' - but he knew he couldn't take advantage of Brian in that way. He had been so generous to him, so gracious to have cared for him during the past few weeks.  It had been heavenly to not only revel in the luxurious surroundings Brian's home had provided, but, more importantly, to have had the privilege of getting to know the man himself.  That only made things harder, however, because despite his common sense having told him not to become too deeply involved emotionally with his caretaker, it was too late.  His heart hadn't listened.  "It's...almost done.  Just a few more minutes, and then it'll be ready for your review," he told him softly. 

 

Brian nodded, his mind racing to come up with an excuse for Justin to stay.  Now that they were done collaborating on his latest work, Justin's reason for remaining was no longer relevant.  His injury was entirely healed, and he was walking freely and without pain.  In fact, his curious visitor had made it his own personal mission to explore every nook and cranny of the residence - Brian freely granting him permission to do so - and he had taken advantage of it to marvel at all the artwork and modern conveniences the home provided, from the storage area in the basement where Debbie kept all her canning supplies and meats, to the attic room with its Palladian window, looking down even higher upon the streets below.  Brian had almost suffered a heart attack when he had gone looking for his wayward guest and had finally found him unexpectedly sitting on the roof just outside the window, Justin's journal opened halfway to a blank page as he concentrated on something that had caught his fancy below.  Only Brian's threat of throwing Justin off the roof - and the serious tone of his voice as his heart pounded in trepidation over his safety - had made Justin reluctantly agree to come back in.  When Brian had reached out to grasp his hand to help him, however, that same burning shock of desire had flashed through Justin, and he had had to quickly avert his eyes.  But Brian had easily been able to detect the blush that tinted Justin's face as he reluctantly let go of his hand.  Since then, Justin had visited the attic frequently whenever he needed some inspiration for his work - or a new perspective.  Brian wasn't naïve to the fact that Justin was no doubt _still_ climbing out onto the roof - at least during warmer days - but he also knew he couldn't watch over his obstinate visitor all the time, so he just had to hope that the blond had enough sense to keep himself safe from an accidental fall.  Despite his concern, however, his companion's predilection to escape to the attic had served him well before when he had needed to secretly remove Justin's sketch of his sister.  To his tremendous relief, Justin hadn't noticed it gone...yet.

 

"So, I guess that's it," Brian finally replied, returning from his pondering as he noticed that Justin had been waiting to hear a response.  He smiled warmly at him.  "You have been the best illustrator I have ever worked with, Justin," he told him, as he noted the familiar blush crept onto Justin's cheeks once more.  The young man's humility was endearing and refreshing to him after having dealt with so many pompous, arrogant collaborators before.  "And I'm not just saying that," he reassured him.  "I know you're young...but talent isn't dictated by age.  You have an innate ability to interpret the words I put on paper perfectly.  It's amazing how well you have captured what I wanted to convey in my writing." 

 

Justin turned his eyes away, a mix of emotions washing over him.  He was both happy to hear Brian's praise of his work, but also sad over what it meant.  Over the past few weeks, he had come to see this residence as more than just brick walls, tall windows, and opulent surroundings.  It had become a home to him, something that he hadn't had since his family had been rent apart.  "I'm glad you approve of them," he finally responded softly, staring down at his hands clasped together in his lap, the pencil now resting on top of the desk; there wasn't a use for it anymore.  His heart raced, though, as Brian reached over to grasp his chin with his hand and gently lifted his face upward toward him, causing Justin's eyes to slowly raise to meet his companion's. His face felt like it was on fire from the warmth of Brian's touch. 

 

"Justin..." Brian murmured, leaning toward him and staring unflinchingly into his eyes, the blue orbs open wide with both surprise and anticipation.  Justin's heart pounded hard in his chest as Brian slid his hand around to the nape of his neck and pulled him even closer, their lips now inches apart.  Brian's eyes drifted downward, his intention clear, before Justin impulsively reached out and - grasping the back of Brian's neck as well - crashed their lips together clumsily.  Their noses bumped briefly before Brian angled his head to seal his lips more firmly over Justin's, caught totally off-guard by the passion demonstrated by the younger man but further fueling his desire.  As the kiss deepened, Brian slid his tongue between Justin's lips, silently beseeching him to open his mouth.  With a moan deep in his throat, Justin did just that, allowing him entrance to explore further. 

 

_Oh, dear God..._ Justin couldn't believe what he had just done, but by the sound of Brian's heavy breathing and the touch of his lips and tongue sweeping across every part of his mouth, there was no question that Brian was enjoying it just as much as he.  But ‘enjoy' was much too insignificant a word for what he was currently feeling; he had never kissed a man before Brian - he had admired men from afar, or through a surreptitious glance from time to time when knew he wouldn't be caught.  But _this_...this he didn't have the words to describe.  His feelings toward men and women were now clearly understood, and he realized he would never fall in love with a woman or have any physical attraction toward one.  As Brian's hand slid down his back to press them further together, he couldn't help noticing his blatant desire for him; he could feel it through the lightweight fabric of Brian's trousers, and it stunned him.  Less than a month ago, he was a dirty, ragged, vagrant, freezing in the cold and digging for whatever piece of rotting food he could find. And now...his mind couldn't even conceive of how different things were now.  He almost felt guilty that one man could derive such great pleasure from such a situation, but his emotions were too intense and overwhelming at present to give it much notice.

 

Brian swiveled his chair to the side and did the same to Justin's, tugging the other man into his lap to strattle him as a startled Justin gripped Brian's shoulders to brace himself.  He pulled back momentarily to stare into Brian's darkened eyes for a few seconds before winding his arms around Brian's neck and nuzzling his collarbone with his lips, his hair tickling Brian.  Brian sighed in pleasure over the feel of Justin's soft lips; his guest was a fast learner, and a very eager one as well.  His hands reached down to begin unbuttoning Justin's shirt, his determination to feel the warm, pale skin hidden underneath as Justin continued feasting on his neck, his lips creating currents of electricity throughout Brian's body.  _God, he had to have this man_.  But not here; not in his chair like some heathen.  With great reluctance, he pulled back and stopped his movements, causing Justin to raise his head to peer into his eyes, his breathing ragged and his chest heaving as soft pants escaped his lips. 

 

"Brian?"  He inquired hoarsely. _Had he gone too far?_ He felt awkward sitting on Brian's lap, but at the same time, it was far from unpleasant; instead, it created a myriad of intense emotions inside him.  His hands slid down to grip the other man's biceps as his confidence faltered. _Had he read Brian's intentions wrong?_   He could feel the strength of the man under his touch, and his own need for Brian threatened to overwhelm him.

 

He soon had his doubts resolved, however, as Brian explained, "Not here.  In my bedchamber."  The huskiness in his voice, and the intense stare Justin received, caused him to shiver as Brian extracted him from his lap and they both stood up, Brian clutching his wrist and virtually pulling him toward the study's door, a mixture of both fear and want growing.  _Would Brian be disappointed in an inexperienced man like him?_   He knew that Brian was aware he had never been with anyone. But as they reached Brian's bedchamber and Brian used his foot to push the door firmly closed, he didn't have any more time to ponder that as his back was slammed against the door and his lips plundered, Brian holding him firmly in place by his shoulders as he pressed his tall, lean body against his, clearly broadcasting his desire for him.  Justin fought for air through his nose as his hands tightly clutched Brian's head, reveling in the feel of the other man's soft, auburn hair, bristled chin, and enticing scent of his cologne.

 

The kiss seemed to go on forever, both men's breathing heavy-laden, until at last Brian pulled back and - turning Justin around - began to push the blond toward the bed, which was formidable, dark wood, and very masculine.  It seemed to fit Brian perfectly, Justin decided.

 

Justin felt the back of the bed hit his legs, causing him to fall backward onto the king-sized feather mattress, instinctively bracing himself on his elbows.  It was even softer than the bed he normally slept in every night since arriving unexpectedly here at Brian's home, but his mind could only acknowledge that fact very briefly; he was too captivated by the man who was now standing next to the bed, staring at him so intently that a rush of heat quickly flooded his body.  He watched in fascination as Brian slowly undid his shirt cuffs, then began to deftly unbutton his white, silk shirt, his eyes never leaving Justin's as he began to disrobe with great deliberation.  The lustful look on Brian's face made Justin's heart pound; he could feel his cock straining tightly against his cotton trousers the more Brian continued to undress.  He continued to watch, captivated, until Brian paused before unfastening his pants.

 

"You know what's about to happen, Justin," he told him quietly, his voice exuding confidence like smooth velvet. He offered a wry smile as he admitted, "Actually, I think it's been foretold since the first moment I laid eyes on you."   He opened up his trousers, letting them drop in a heap at his feet as he toed off his shoes and stepped out of them, leaving him clad only in his flannel undershirt and matching, knee-length drawers. Pulling his undershirt over his head, he quickly disposed of the rest of his clothing until he was completely naked.   

 

Justin swallowed at the sight in front of him, his mouth dry; rendered speechless, he could only stare unabashedly as his eyes swept over the toned, lightly muscled body standing so close to him.  He silently admitted to himself that he, too, had wanted Brian from the moment he had awakened and had his first look at the benefactor who had taken responsibility for him.  Now the time he had dreamt of for so many nights was apparently about to come to life, and he was yearning to touch every inch of this magnificent-looking man.  But he was also afraid of disappointing Brian; he had told him before that he had never been with another man, so hopefully he would be patient with him.  Either way, he decided it didn't matter; he wanted this - he wanted _him_ \- much too badly.  He licked his lips to wet them and breathed nervously, the anticipation increasing as Brian inched closer.  Figuring that was Brian's signal for him to undress as well, with trembling hands he began to unbutton his own shirt...only to have Brian reach out and grasp his wrist, making him gasp at the warm touch. 

 

"Let me," Brian urged him quietly, his voice low and hoarse.  Justin swallowed the lump in his throat as he nodded in compliance.  He knew this would be a turning point in his life as he pushed worries about his future - _their_ future - to the back of his mind. 

 

* * *

_Same Time...Topeka, Kansas_

__  
  
Robert Fletcher squinted against the bright sun reflecting off the snow-laden ground surrounding the train depot.  Stepping off the wooden step placed down by the porter, he held onto his satchel as he stood there at the platform, viewing the bustling activity around him.  As an investigator, it was his nature to watch events and people closely, having learned that unexpected opportunities arose at surprising times simply by observation or striking up a casual conversation with someone. 

 

He used that same technique as he walked into the town square, locating the sheriff's office a few minutes later.  Taking off his top hat - feeling conspicuous amongst the more casually-dressed citizens of the town - he turned the knob of the weathered, wooden door and walked inside.  A pudgy, older man, his stomach protruding over his uniform trousers, sat at an oak desk below a small window with his feet propped up, a cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth as he read what appeared to be the local paper.  A coal-bellied stove stood in the corner, serving as the only source of heat for the jail with two, presently empty cells. Notices of ‘wanted' criminals - mainly for bank robberies around the general territory - were tacked up behind him, the faces staring back at Fletcher like zombies as he cleared his throat to get the man's attention.

 

Peering up at the stranger over the top of his paper, the burly man bit down on his cigar stump as he raised his eyes.  Out here, the fastidious, expensively-dressed man stood out in stark contrast to the local population.  "You wantin' something?" he asked, raising his bushy eyebrows.

 

Fletcher nodded, unfazed by the man's abruptness, reached inside his breast pocket to pull out a folded-up piece of paper that he had so carefully carried for hundreds of miles through all sorts of transportation.  "Yes," he stated simply as he unfolded it.  "I need information on this girl."

 

Elston Porter groaned in stiffness as he slid his boot-clad feet off his desk, a thump resounding on the floor as he scooted back from his chair and stood to take a better look.  Narrowing his eyes at the sketch, it was so precise in detail he instantly knew who it was.  "What do you want with the Lykins' girl?" 

 

Fletcher pushed back the triumphant smile he wanted to display as the man confirmed his research.  It had taken him days to track down Molly Taylor from the orphan train to where he stood now, but it had been worth it.  "I just need to speak with her family, that's all.  It's business." 

 

The other man eyed him suspiciously.  "What _kind_ of business?  And just who ARE you?  You ain't from around here." 

 

Fletcher smiled slightly at the obvious statement.  "No.  I'm from Pittsburgh.  Now, will you please tell me where I can find their farm?" 

 

"You didn't answer my question.  What KIND of business?" Porter repeated, instinctively patting the gun holstered at his side.  They didn't get too many strangers here in town, and this one was definitely NOT townsfolk.  "You lookin' to make trouble, Mister?" With the recent merger of two major railroad companies, the town's population was exploding along with a rise in crime, but Porter had to admit this man certainly did not look like a criminal, either.   

 

Fletcher sighed over the waste of time.  "No, I promise. No trouble.  But it's some urgent business between them and me."

 

"Someone die?" Porter drawled.  "Or are you kin from out of town?" 

 

Fletcher fought the urge to roll his eyes as he replied, "Neither.  Now will you _please_ just give me directions on how to reach their homestead?  If not, I'll go over to the saloon and find someone who will.  And I'll need a driver.  How far out of town is it, anyway?"

 

The sheriff studied the man as Fletcher stood there unflappably.  _Never give anything important away_ , the detective silently remembered his mantra as the portly man continued to size him up. Finally, he noticed a change in the man's expression as Porter bit down on his cigar before he spoke out of the side of his mouth.  "Not far," he told him, pulling what was left of his cigar out of his mouth and extinguishing it in a worn, metal dish sitting on his desk.  "You can hire a driver over at the livery. They know how to get there," he added, hiking his pants up as he strolled over to pour himself some coffee into a tin cup.  "But I'll be keeping an eye on you.  I don't know what your business is with those folks, but we don't take kindly to trouble here." 

 

Fletcher sighed.  "No worries, Sheriff.  I just need to speak with them."   He held out his hand out for a few seconds, the sheriff hesitating before reaching over in an effort to shake his hand; out here, that was the only form of promise needed.  Instead, Fletcher shook his head, causing Porter to frown at him until he realized what Fletcher wanted.  Picking up the sketch, he peered down at it briefly before reminding the stranger, "The Lykins are law-abiding folk. So is this town, and it's my aim to keep it that way."

 

Nodding after turning around, Fletcher could practically feel the other man's eyes boring into his back after he pulled open the creaky, wooden door and headed back out into the chilly air, the blazing sun causing him to don his hat once more to ward against its brilliance.  Spying the livery several doors down on the opposite side, he headed over to seek out transportation to the Lykins' place, somehow sensing the urgency that had been in Kinney's voice when they had spoken - an urgency that made him quicken his step.

 

_  
_

 


	11. A New Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Justin's attraction to each other cannot be held back any longer...

_Brian's Bedroom_

Brian sat on the edge of the bed, comfortable in his nakedness, as he gazed down at the wide, expressive eyes boring into his.  He saw a mixture of desire, need, and uncertainty in those depths as he smiled in an attempt to reassure him.  "You are so damn beautiful," he murmured, causing Justin to blush at the unexpected compliment.  He reached down to lightly rub his index finger down the side of Justin's neck as he leaned over him, feeling the rush of blood pounding in the younger man's rapid pulse.  He paused as his hands reached out toward Justin's shirt.  "Fuck, I want you.  But are you sure about this?" 

 

Justin swallowed hard, his body responding merely to the husky tone of Brian's voice as well as the touch of his slender finger against his skin.  He couldn't summon the words to speak, so he simply nodded, the tip of his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. 

 

Brian nodded with a half-smile.  "I'll take that as a yes," he responded, as he finally had the chance to unbutton the white, cotton shirt and expose the pale skin lying underneath, pulling both sides open to reveal more of Justin's chest.  His skin seemed to glow under the soft lighting in the room and was flawless...except for two faded scars on Justin's torso.  He gently skimmed his fingers over the longest one, located underneath the boy's left nipple, causing a slight shiver to occur in response.  "These scars...where did they come from?" he asked, lifting his eyes to see an odd expression on Justin's face.  _Fear?  Apprehension?  Shame?_   "Where, Justin?" he repeated more forcefully, needing to know.  They were too faint to have been caused by the accident.  He had seen enough physical fights - even been in a few brawls himself after one too many whiskeys - to know that they weren't fresh.  But they were significant in their size. 

 

Brian's hands grasped the sides of Justin's waist - causing the blond to gasp at the unexpected movement - as he gazed up into the concerned - and angry? - expression on Brian's face.  "Brian...it's not important," he murmured, embarrassed, turning his head away from the probing eyes.

 

"Yes, it IS, Justin.  Tell me.  Were you in some type of fight?  Did someone hit you?" 

 

"Brian, it was in the past..." It was a feeble plea from him for Brian to drop it, but as he predicted, the other man wouldn't let it go.  He sucked in a breath as Brian reached down to gently but firmly grasp his chin with one hand to force him to look at him.

 

"Just _tell me_."

 

Justin sighed, realizing he was fighting a losing battle with this stubborn and determined man.  "It happened in the orphanage.  The headmistress hit Molly with a ruler on top of her hands when she wasn't paying attention to a question she asked, and I pushed the woman away from her while trying to protect my sister.  She was really hurting her, and I couldn't just stand there and let her do that, so I shoved her.  I didn't mean for her to fall, but she lost her balance and did.  She wasn't hurt, but when she got up and dusted her dress off, she looked at me with such hatred in her eyes and told everyone in the room that she was going to make an example out of me.  She gripped me by the shoulders and had one of her employees fetch a willow branch from another room. Then she ripped open my shirt and whacked me with it several times."  Justin took a shuddery breath as he recalled the humiliation he had felt.  "Most of the scars have healed by now, but these were the worst ones..."  His eyes blinked back tears as he thought back to that moment.  He wasn't sure if the worst pain then had been physical or emotional.  But seeing the look of terror on his sister's face as she had to watch him being whipped with tears streaming down her face as she called out his name would haunt him forever. 

 

Brian looked at him, appalled.  He had heard some horror stories about the orphanages, but this woman had to be evil personified.  "I can't imagine what you and your sister went through there," he murmured, as his hands reached up to slowly slide down Justin's shoulders, caressing them lightly.  He impulsively lifted one hand to his lips to kiss the knuckles, marveling at the courage both Justin and his sister had to have shared as they endured what must have been horrible living conditions.  It made him even more determined to find Justin's sister, to at least partially erase some of the pain. 

 

"It...it wasn't like that all the time," Justin whispered, reeling from the sensation of Brian's lips kissing his fingers...He was finding it hard to concentrate on anything as Brian's hands then began to roam over his chest, stopping at his nipples to rub the pink nubs in a circular pattern and making him gasp as long fingers teased the rapidly hardening peaks.  He couldn't believe how aroused he felt merely by Brian's touch.  "Brian..." he struggled to utter.

 

"Hmm?" Brian leaned down further, hearing Justin moan as he grasped the sides of the younger man's waist again and began to nip and lick at first one nipple and then the next, sliding one hand up to tease the other.  He could hear the most amazing sounds coming from Justin's lips as he proceeded to worship the fair skin, a combination of soft moans, whimpers, and sighs.

 

"Ohhhhh...."  Justin body was rapidly responding to Brian's kisses and caresses.  He had no idea how sensitive nipples could be until he felt warm lips suckling, nipping, and licking around the perimeter, and the soft fuzz of Brian's beard against his skin.  He squirmed at the sensations flowing through him.  If he felt this way just by Brian caressing his chest and his lips skimming over his skin, how was he going to feel when he proceeded further?  _Was he ready for the next step?_

Brian reached for Justin's trousers, deftly unbuttoning them.  Intensity reflecting in his eyes, he rose to his feet by the side of the bed, taking a brief amount of time to pull the blond's shoes off.  "Now let's see the rest of you," Brian murmured, gazing into Justin's eyes.  He could see both desire and a little anxiety on his face as he hesitated, feeling the need to reassure him.  "I know how to pleasure a man, Justin," he told him, his voice low and silky.  "Just relax and let me show you." 

 

_Relax_ , Justin thought as Brian knelt on the bed, his hands practically burning his skin.  How could he possibly relax when his body felt like it was on fire?  He didn't quite know what Brian intended to do, but his mind flashed with all sorts of possibilities.  All he _did_ know, however, when he gazed at the handsome, magnificent-looking man beside him was that he couldn't wait to experience whatever form it took.  So, he silently nodded his head, feeling Brian's long fingers grasping the waistband of his trousers and cotton drawers underneath.  He gasped softly when Brian pulled on both pieces of clothing and slowly peeled them from his legs, the warmth from the nearby fireplace that had been stoked earlier by the waitstaff keeping him from feeling much of a chill.  He watched as Brian lay the garments on a nearby velour chair before turning to face the young man gazing back at him, his eyes a darkened shade of their normal azure color.  Justin felt his heart race as Brian's eyes roamed from his face downward, taking in the light skin, a thick cock at full attention, and a thatch of dark, wiry, blond hairs.  His gaze stopped to admire the slender legs and then Justin's feet before he smiled, his hunger growing by the second.

 

At last able to admire every inch of flushed, creamy-colored skin, Brian braced his upper body with the palms of his hands as he placed them on either side of Justin, his eyes burning into his.  He smiled.  "God, you are so perfect," he murmured, making Justin blush even harder at the second, unabashed declaration.  "I'm going to make you feel so good.  Both of us," he assured him, concerned that his much less-experienced lover would doubt his ability to please him. But Brian had no doubts whatsoever.  _Baby steps_ , he thought to himself.  Tonight would be the first of hopefully many nights where they could explore ways to heighten their pleasure, and he was looking forward to each round.  For now, tonight would be a lesson in erogenous zones, sensitive areas, and watching and hearing Justin's reaction to his touch, because just the whimpers, moans, and gasps the blond had uttered earlier made him even hotter with desire.

 

"Lesson No. 1," Brian whispered softly as he loomed over Justin, who was clenching the sheets beside him in anticipation.  "Touch.  It's all in the touch," he told him, as he turned onto his side to support himself, reaching over Justin to locate a small, glass jar.  Using his thumb to pry open the hinged, metal lid, he dipped two fingers into the oil inside and coated his palm with the liquid before curling his hand around Justin's cock, savoring its warmth and thickness.  He then briefly fondled his balls, heavy in his grasp.  At the first hint of his touch, he had heard Justin's sharp intake of breath that escaped his lips.  "Yes," he responded as he noticed pre-cum leaking from the tip, and Justin's breath quickening as he began to gently stroke the hard flesh, sliding his now-slickened hand up and down the shaft.  "You like that, don't you?" he asked, one brow lifting slightly. 

 

Justin swallowed hard, his body aflame, as Brian continued to use his long fingers to expertly manipulate him.  He could feel his desire mounting exponentially with each stroke and could feel his body craving release.  "I...I..."  He couldn't believe what he was feeling; _how_ he was feeling.  "Brian, I...oh..."  _My God. He couldn't utter even so much as a comprehensible word_.  The rush of heat spread rapidly throughout his body as his hips arched upward wanting, _needing_ more of this gorgeous man's touch.  He bit his lip hard as Brian flicked his thumb over the head of his cock, causing an intense jolt of desire to rush through him.  "No...wait...!" 

 

Brian grinned, knowing precisely what Justin was trying to say, and knowing how close he was.  "It's okay, Justin," he told him, his voice hoarse as he watched, fascinated, while Justin struggled to control his impending orgasm.  "Let go...Give in to me," he commanded quietly, his fingers stroking more aggressively, Justin's breathing quickening and his face squeezing tight as he struggled to maintain control.  "Do it," he ordered.

 

The hoarse tone of Brian's voice was all it took for Justin to surrender, his body arching upward off the bed as he loudly moaned, his cum spurting all over Brian's hand and his own body as his chest heaved from the aftershock.  He breathed quickly in and out several more times before he flopped back down on the bed, totally spent, waiting for his heartrate to slow down. 

 

Brian stared at the young man before him, his skin glistening with sweat; his cheeks were flushed, his body was sweaty, with beads of perspiration sprinkling his brow.  He didn't have to ask if Justin had enjoyed their first encounter; the dazed look in his eyes, the darkened, dilated pupils, and the expression of wonder on his face told him everything he needed to know.  But he hadn't earned his own release yet, and each second was becoming more and more unbearable.  Reaching over to grasp both of their cocks in his hand, he was surprised when Justin shook his head.  He raised an eyebrow in question.  "What?" he whispered.  "I know you enjoyed that."  It wasn't a boast; it was simply fact.  He watched as Justin deeply blushed in response, moving to cover his face with his hands, only to have Brian stop him.  He shook his head.  "No...there's nothing to be ashamed of," he reassured him.  "There's nothing wrong with giving - or receiving - pleasure." 

 

Justin swallowed and flicked his tongue out to wet his lips again. Shaking his head, he explained, "No...what I mean is...I would like to..."  _God, this was so hard!_    "...to return the favor," he finally stated, wondering if he had lost his mind.  He had just had his first encounter with a man - a refined, worldly, and cultured man - and here he was, some street orphan, proposing that he provide this man with the same amount of pleasure that he had just given _him_?  Was he even sure how to do it?  How to touch him, _where_ to touch him, to show him how much he cared for him?  All he knew was that he wanted desperately to try, and his fingers ached at the thought.

 

Brian's eyes widened in surprise, his desire intensifying even more as he stared down at the determined look on Justin's face.  He had fantasized about this but had never imagined this young man would suggest it.  "Then do it," he replied huskily as he turned to lie on his back, his cock throbbing with anticipation.  "Touch me."  He used some of the oil on his fingers to coat his shaft, sliding them up and down and uttering a low sound through partly-open lips at the thought of what was to come.

 

It was such a simple command Brian had issued, but also a powerful one with its implications for Justin.  The blond stared in fascination at Brian's body as he tentatively reached toward him, finding his hand slightly shaking at the thought of finally getting the chance to do what he had wanted to do for so long.  Peering down at Brian, who nodded slightly in encouragement, he moistened his lips before he reached for the other man's impressive cock, marveling at the silkiness of the warm flesh as he tentatively curled his fingers around the hard shaft surrounded by ringlets of dark, pubic hair.  He heard a rush of air escape Brian's lips at his first touch, much like his own reaction had been, and he felt a peculiar sense of pride that he could cause this type of response in such an experienced man. 

 

"Yes..." Brian whispered, arching his body to try and push his cock more into Justin's hand to heighten his pleasure.  "More.  Harder." 

 

Justin did as Brian asked, becoming more and more confident as he grasped the slick shaft and began to slide his hand up and down to create friction, imitating Brian's movements earlier as he used his thumb to tease the tip, evoking a groan this time.  While his right hand was busy manipulating Brian's cock, his other hand cradled his balls, and then began to stroke the inside of Brian's thighs with the back of his fingers.  He jumped slightly when Brian jerked in response, fascinated by the sounds and reactions his touch was creating.  Biting his lower lip in concentration, he felt his own cock growing hard again as he continued to stroke and manipulate Brian's shaft.  He could see and feel Brian's desire increasing, pre-cum leaking from his slit and his body tensing beneath his touch, before suddenly Brian loudly groaned as he climaxed with a powerful eruption, his body jerking upward as a stream of milky, white cum spurted all over Justin's hand. 

 

Lying back down as he tried to catch his breath a few moments later, Brian was astounded by the intensity of his climax.  He had never reacted this strongly before to any man's touch, and this one was barely a man at all; at least in years.  He turned his head to observe Justin now lying beside him, his hand and body covered with the aftermath of their experience.  He breathed in and out rapidly for several seconds, a soft wheeze escaping from his nose, before he could control his voice enough to speak.  "That was..."  He couldn't verbalize precisely WHAT he was feeling.  He was on some indescribable, euphoric cloud, the likes of which he had never experienced before.   "...incredible," he finally breathed out, noticing Justin's face registering surprise over the compliment.   

 

He smiled.  "For someone who's never been with a man, you seem to be a natural at it," he commented.  He shook his head in amusement as Justin covered his face with his hands again - something he found inexplicably charming - as he rose from the bed to walk over to a wash basin and pitcher perched on a nearby, oval table.  Pouring some water into the bowl, he grabbed a washcloth lying next to it, and wetted it before returning to Justin's side.  Noticing the blond observing him closely now, he knelt on the side of the bed and began to gently but methodically clean him off before returning to the pitcher and bowl.  Wringing the washcloth out, he rudimentarily did the same to his own body as he stood there. Tossing it onto the lip of the basin, he walked back toward the bed, smiling softly when he noticed Justin had fallen asleep.  "There are so many things to teach you yet," he murmured as he carefully slid into the bed next to him.  "But we have time for that."  Reaching to pull the bedspread over them, he lay on his back in contemplation for a minute or so before he, too, felt his eyelids grow heavy and he joined his companion in slumber, the flames crackling in the fireplace soothing him to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to move the story along a little more, but it's taken me so long to update this that I decided I should end it here for now. In the next part, you will find out what happens with Molly, and read about complications that arise in the Kinney household.
> 
> Thanks to all of you for reading, and for your patience. I am grateful for both. :)


	12. Molly's Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ominous clouds begin to form at the Kinney residence as Fletcher searches for Justin's sister.

_Same Time...Topeka, Kansas_

Despite the heavy overcoat Robert Fletcher was wearing, the wind had picked up considerably across the flat land surrounding the city since his arrival, and there was a biting cold.  He had managed to secure a carriage and a driver with every intention of visiting the farm where he had determined Molly Taylor was now living, but now he was questioning the wisdom of that decision.  Lord knows what sort of life she had lived for the past few years.  He knew that life in the country could be rough and unforgiving, and he suspected this couple had wanted more of a servant than a daughter.  It was common on the orphan trains to treat these children as human fodder; the boys were selected for hard labor outside in the fields, while the young girls, even some younger than Molly's age, were expected to help with the household chores.  While food was provided - mainly as a protection against something happening to their ‘indentured servant' as he considered them - love, he suspected, was scarce if not totally missing.  He pressed his lips tightly together, and wrapped his arms around his coat, his hat providing little heat for his head.  As the wind gusted and he began to shiver, he realized unfortunately that he would have to wait until daybreak tomorrow before he dare set out for the Miller farmstead.  From his meticulous research, he was confident he had found the young girl that Brian Kinney was seeking, but positive confirmation would have to come tomorrow morning. 

 

Sighing, he notified the relieved livery driver that he would travel tomorrow to his destination as the man curtly nodded. Patting the folded-up piece of paper inside his breast pocket, he turned and headed to a nearby saloon to seek out both a drink and a bed to keep him warm for the night.

 

* * *

_The Next Morning - Brian's Residence_

Temperance Hitchcock was a surly but methodical type of person.  She always rose at the same time, dressing neatly in her pressed uniform with her long hair styled into a tightly-wound bun before heading to the main floor of the home at precisely 6:15 a.m.  It was always the same routine every day: greet the cook, Mrs. Novotny, with a curt nod as the woman's eyes bored into hers before she turned back to her cooking, and then head to the laundry room to collect the day's clothes that were hanging on a rope line next to the wash tub.  Checking to make sure all her master's clothing was dry, she scowled at the smaller-sized pieces hanging beside them, knowing they belonged to the young urchin who had been injured and somehow managed to remain in the household to this day, even after being fully healed from his carriage injury. She shook her head in disgust, knowing precisely the reason why:  her employer had no doubt not bedded him yet; once he had, she was sure he would be on his way out the door, much like all the other ‘gentlemen callers' who had preceded him. The only exception to this one was the method in which he had wound up in the house; all the others had at least been of less questionable backgrounds, even though they all shared a common interest in depravity.  The only reason she tolerated her employer's repugnant sexual conduct was simply due to his above-average compensation and her Sundays off, both of which she cherished and made her the envy of her friends in other residences of servitude. But it was all she could do to keep her tongue to herself whenever Kinney brought home yet another one-night dalliance.

 

Shaking her head and clucking softly in disapproval, she ironed the clothing retrieved from the wash line before folding them into two separate piles, placing them side-by-side in a dark brown wicker basket lying on a shelf nearby.  Grasping it with both hands, she turned and proceeded back through the kitchen on her way to the staircase.

 

"Temperance, tell Master Kinney that breakfast will be ready in half an hour," Debbie instructed her.  She knew that technically she wasn't the other woman's direct superior, but there was something about this prude of a woman that always rankled her. 

 

"I don't answer to you," was the prim response, Temperance's lips compressed into a tight line. 

 

Debbie sighed; she had expected that sort of response, but it didn't impede her. She placed her hands on her hips.  "Fine. Then I'll tell your employer that you caused his food to get cold, because you didn't relay my message to him.  And we know how much he loves eating cold food, don't we?"  She turned back around to her cooking and smirked as Temperance huffed in displeasure, knowing the other woman wouldn't dare be the cause of any dissonance in the household; she valued her well-paid job too much.  If there was one thing Debbie knew about Brian Kinney, he liked both his morning coffee and his food piping hot.  The one time someone had substituted for her due to an illness, she could hear his complaining all the way in her room several doors down from the kitchen.  Needless to say, the poor, overwrought woman who had filled in for her was given the remaining stipend owed to her and was advised to go find another position elsewhere.

 

Debbie slowly stirred the oatmeal on top of the stove.  Today, she would be serving canned peaches with the oatmeal, broiled ham, poached eggs on toast, cucumbers, and coffee; it had become one of Justin's favorite meals, and she had grown to enjoy watching his smile warm up the room during the dreary days they had endured lately.  Today was much like it had been for the past several days - gloomy, blustery, and very cold.  The snow that had fallen a couple of days ago still had a firm, unyielding hold on the city to where people were only going outside if absolutely necessary.  She was grateful for the warmth of the stove, as well as the heat being generated from the fire nearby.  Using the hem of her apron to wipe her hands, she turned the slices of ham over in the cast-iron skillet, humming to herself as she busily continued with the morning meal.

 

Temperance trudged up the steps one at a time, balancing the basket of clothes in front of her; she scowled as she had to stop a few times to reposition the basket so as not to drop any item.  Stopping to catch her breath as she reached the top of the steps, she frowned, noticing her employer's bedroom closed.  Normally, he would be in his study by now, working on his latest serialization or doing research for an upcoming publication.  He always kept his bedroom door open during those times, so she could change out his laundry and put his ironed clothes away in his wardrobe.  She walked a few steps down the hallway and peeked into Master Kinney's study on the left; the door was open about a foot or so, but the man was not sitting behind his desk, nor had the fire been stoked yet, or the drapes pulled open.  It was obvious to her that he had not been in the cold, dimly-lit room yet.  Her forehead creasing with realization, she walked further down the hall past her employer's suite to the bedroom presently being occupied by the young blond man who had made himself comfortable in their home, showing no inclination to leave.  His door was slightly ajar as she pushed it open further with her basket before turning to peer over at the bed; it was obvious he had not slept in it.  The bed was neatly made as usual, with the pillows set just as she had left them yesterday, and like the study, the fireplace was cold and with the radiator turned down, it made goosebumps break out on her arms.

 

Shaking her head in disbelief, she laid the basket down on the bed and plucked the pile of clothing that belonged to their ‘guest.'  It hadn't taken very long for Kinney to purchase new clothing for the waif. Carrying it over to the oak wardrobe, she pulled one door open and proceeded to hang the clothes up.  "Guess Henry's clothes weren't good enough for you," she muttered as she examined the simple, yet well-made pants and shirts.  She noticed for some reason the young man's clothing that he had first worn when the accident had occurred was still lying at the bottom of the wardrobe, although it was now cleaned and folded.  "That's what you belong in," she declared to herself.  "And now that Kinney's had his way with you, at least we can be spared your presence going forward now."  She smirked in smug satisfaction as she turned and picked up the basket from the bed.  As she was about to leave the room, she shrunk back inside and hid behind the open door when her employer's door unexpectedly swung open.  Through the crack between the wall and the door, she could see Kinney standing just outside his bedroom suite noticing him smiling at something - or, she suspected - someone inside the room.  She muffled the gasp that threatened to escape her lips as she noticed Kinney's state of disarray and undress and quickly averted her eyes; but not before observing that he was barefoot and wearing only a pair of drawers.  He scratched his errant hair with his right hand while heading down the other direction toward the guest washroom.  A few moments later, she heard him close the door behind him, and then the sound of water running.  She sighed, relieved that she had not been caught surreptitiously observing him.  There could be only one reason why her employer would be using the other washroom in her opinion; his bedmate was apparently still asleep, and he didn't want to disturb him. 

 

Quietly treading down the hallway toward Master Kinney's suite, she placed the basket down gingerly onto the floor before turning the crystal doorknob and slowly opening the door just a crack so she could see the bed on her right.  Sure enough, the blond imp - barely a man, in her opinion, more like a boy - was lying in her employer's bed, his tousled hair splayed against the pillow next to where Kinney must have slept.  She took in the pale skin of the man's back on he lay on his side away from her, and the coverlet that fortunately hid the rest of his body below, before she looked away and shook her head.  She wasn't sure who was worse:  this intruder who had situated himself into their household as if he had been here forever, or her employer, who had taken a mere child to bed for his own lascivious needs.  Hearing the boy snoring softly, she slowly closed the door, peering over at the washroom door to make sure that Kinney was still inside, before heading back down the hallway toward the steps.  There would be no way to hang up her employer's clothes in his wardrobe and not risk being seen or heard.  But what she _had_ seen was embedded into her mind, and as she descended the stairs, feelings of disgust and outrage flooded through her. If only she could find another employ that paid so well and gave her so much time off!  But she knew from discussing her situation with her friends that she was lucky indeed to have found this position and would never find one as generous as her present one.  That didn't mean that she had to approve of his lifestyle, though.

 

Debbie peered up at the other woman as she returned, frowning as she noticed the half-full basket of clothing in her hands.  "Why do you still have Master Kinney's clothes with you?" she asked as she raised an eyebrow. 

 

"Not that it's any concern of yours," Temperance curtly replied, her hands tightening slightly on the handles of the basket.  "But he's still asleep, and I didn't want to disturb him."  _Well, it was half a truth, anyway_ , she decided.  It just wasn't the male that this busybody no doubt thought she meant. 

 

Debbie glanced at the clock over the sink.  "At this hour?  That's unlike him.  He always told me he was most productive early in the day.  Are you certain he was asleep?"  She frowned.  "Maybe he's coming down with something." 

 

Temperance's eyes blazed as she snorted; Kinney was definitely NOT ill; at least not physically.  "Of _course_ I'm sure!" she insisted.  "I peeked inside the room, and he was still in the bed!  Any more interrogation for now?" 

 

Debbie despised this mean-spirited, rude, impatient woman and her superior attitude.  "Do I need to?" she countered before letting out a weary sigh.  She waved her hands in dismissal.  "Just go.  I'll take a plate up to him when it's ready." 

 

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Temperance replied with a sneer before she twirled around and headed back toward the laundry room, rolling her eyes at the other woman's audacity.  Despite the knowledge that she would never find as good an arrangement as she had here, having to bear dealing with the insufferable redhead was almost enough to make her leave anyway.  But she knew she couldn't or wouldn't.  Placing the basket down, she headed downstairs to the cleaning closet to secure some other supplies for her work. 

 

Debbie sighed, once again reminding herself that she must speak to Brian soon about the woman's impudence and outright rebellious attitude.  Except for this woman, she considered all the other members of the household to be like a large family to her, and she had long since had enough of this churlish woman who had nothing better to do than gossip and stand judge over everyone else around her.  The anger had slowly been boiling inside of her like hot water on the stove, and she was extremely close to letting off some much-needed steam.  Shaking her head and deciding to focus on the present for now, however, she turned and continued her preparations for breakfast.

 

* * *

_Topeka, Kansas - early morning same day_

Fletcher tucked his overcoat closer to his body with his gloved hands as he stood on the planked floor of the saloon's covered entrance, relieved to see that the wind had lessened considerably since yesterday evening and that the sun was rising brilliantly in the sky.  While the cold was still bone-chilling, at least the day was fit for travel.  He nodded at the tall, middle-aged man standing several feet away next to a buggy with two horses reined to it.  A canvas on top served as the only cover he would expect on their journey; he hoped it would be a short one, but regardless he was determined to carry out his goal. 

 

"Sure you're wantin' to travel out to that homestead today?"  The driver asked, closing one eye as he scrutinized the man standing in front of him.  The tall, well-dressed stranger definitely stood out amongst the farmers, businessmen, and occasional scoundrels that populated the growing town.  Even if he hadn't been told by the livery owner that he was from out of town, it would have been obvious anyway.  "Wind's expected to pick up again later on," he advised him, but he noticed the man shaking his head.

 

"Yes, I'm sure," Fletcher responded firmly as he walked over and hoisted himself into the buggy.  "How long to get there?" he asked.  "I take it you know where it is?" 

 

The driver - a middle-aged, lanky man who went by the name of "Scout" - huffed indignantly.  "What do you take me for, mister?  Of course, I know my way there!"

 

Fletcher rolled his eyes as the man deftly jumped up into the driver's seat in front of him.  "Well, then, I'd like an answer to my question.  How long to get to the Miller place?" 

 

Scout bit back the retort he wanted to make in light of how generous this man was being in terms of compensation; he had offered double his normal fee to transport him out to the Millers, wait for him, and then drive him back to town.  Instead, he pursed his lips tightly together before he replied.  "Reckon ‘bout an hour," he told him.  "Maybe a little longer due to the weather."  He clapped the reins as the two horses began to move, their breath rising in the chilly air as they slowly picked up speed. 

 

There was silence for a few minutes before the driver glanced back at his passenger.   "You kin to the Millers?" he asked, his words spoken in between the regular clapping rhythm of the horses' hooves.

 

"No, I have some business with them."  _Why did townsfolk have to be so damn nosey?_ He wondered. 

 

Scout scoffed.  "You don't look like you have anything in common with them. They're just simple farm people.  You come from the big city, don't cha?" 

 

Fletcher sighed, wanting to issue a curt "it's none of your business," but experience had taught him that helpful information could sometimes appear in the most unexpected of ways.  "You might say that," he replied.  "I'm from out East." 

 

"So why come out here to No Man's Land?  You're not here to make trouble, are ya?"  The driver craned his head backward, squinting into the bright sunshine.

 

Fletcher ignored the pointed scrutinization.  "No, no trouble," he assured him evenly, having to speak up a little amid the clatter of the horses' hooves.  "Just some financial business."  The detective turned his head to avoid any further conversation, bunching his scarf around his neck as he stared out at the flat, bleak landscape, fields that were full of crops a few months earlier, but were now devoid of any vegetation or life.  He wondered if that was how he would find things at the Miller homestead.  Only an occasional tree used as property markers and barbed wire broke up the monotonous landscape.

 

Fortunately, his driver finally decided to keep his mouth shut as they traveled on toward their destination.  It would be several minutes more before he began to see the faint outline of a two-story farmhouse in the far-off distance.  A windmill stood directly behind it, along with a barn.  A chicken coop sat perpendicular to the residence.  The home appeared to be in dilapidated shape, poorly maintained and bleak-looking.

 

The closer they got to the farmhouse, the worse it appeared.  "That the Miller place?" he called up to the driver.

 

"Yep," Scout replied, keeping his focus straight ahead.

 

Fletcher shook his head.  The clapboard home looked like it might collapse if anyone leaned on it too hard.  Even if he wanted to, he didn't think he could properly describe this place to Kinney; normally very eloquent in his conversations back home, he found himself speechless for once as they approached the structure.  Despite the bright blue sky and the sunshine, the bitter cold and lack of trees or any kind of vegetation made the home far from inviting.  As they came even closer to the home, suddenly a German Shepherd - chained to a weathered, wooden doghouse - rushed toward them, barking furiously as he strained to reach them.  Fletcher flinched at the thought of what would happen if the animal became loose, but his attention was drawn immediately to a deep, booming voice that yelled, "Shut up, dog!"   The dog barked a couple more times before he finally settled down, standing at the end of his chain as he stared at the strangers, his hackles raised.

 

The detective turned his head to observe a thin, wiry man standing on the covered porch wearing overalls and a flannel shirt.  He appeared to be in his mid-forties, although with his tanned, leathery skin, it was hard to tell.  The man was holding a rifle in his hands across his chest as he sized up his visitors.  "That you, Scout?"  the man called out as he eyed Fletcher warily.

 

"You know it's me, Mac!" the man exclaimed indignantly.  "This man here has business with ya." 

 

Fletcher shifted slightly in his seat under the other man's scrutiny of him.  He cleared his throat, feeling decidedly like a fish out of water, but determined to carry out his plans.  "Are you Lucas Miller?" he asked as he stepped down from the buggy, holding onto the side with one hand as he stood there facing him, having heard the driver calling him by another name. Perhaps it was his nickname or a middle name.

 

"Who's askin'?" the man said.  Just then the front screen door banged open, and a woman appeared wearing a plain, light-blue frock with an off-white collar and a half-apron.  Shorter and plump with dirty-blonde hair, she was a stark contrast to the man that Fletcher assumed was her husband.  "Who is that, Mac?" the woman asked, furrowing her brow.

 

"Hush, woman!" Miller demanded as the woman immediately stopped speaking. "That's what I'm tryin' to find out!" 

 

Fletcher doffed his hat as he clutched it in one hand.  "The name's Robert Fletcher.  I've come from Pittsburgh.  And I'm here on some important business."  He glanced around the dreary-looking landscape, now dotted with stalks of harvested corn, the remnants sticking up like soldiers in a cavalry group.  "Something that could change your life," he added solemnly.  And if they agreed to what he wanted, it was true.  It would.  He only hoped they would understand that.

 

Miller scoffed.  "What sort of business could you possibly have with us?  We don't know you.  We country folk mind our own business.  I suggest you go back where you came from and take your city ways back with you." 

 

"Now, Mac, hear him out.  After all, I drove him all the way out here, and it wasn't easy.  He must have something important to say," Scout interjected to Fletcher's surprise.  Fletcher wouldn't exactly say they had bonded on their journey here, but he figured if the man wanted to play mediator to assist him, it was fine with him. 

 

Miller lowered his rifle and placed it down on a wooden bench directly beside him.  "Okay, then, speak your piece.  Then get the hell off my property!" 

 

Fletcher nodded, concerned that the one person he wanted to see the most hadn't appeared yet.  Where was Molly Taylor?  Had he been wrong in his research that this was the couple who had adopted her years ago?  He was always confident in his sources, and his ability to track down even the most elusive of targets, but he wasn't always 100% right, either.  He prayed this wouldn't be one of those times.

 

Just then, he watched as a thin girl wearing a light pink, laced bonnet and a long, well-worn dress appear from behind the house, carrying a wooden, slatted pail with her.  It was obvious from the way she favored her right shoulder that whatever was in the pail was heavy; a small amount of water spilled out, and then he realized she must have been toting in water from a well.  He couldn't see enough of her face to know for sure that this was who he was searching for, but he was encouraged by her size and the scraggly, blondish-red hair hanging down her back.  Her head was focused on the ground, so she apparently hadn't even noticed the detective's arrival.

 

An inspiration hit him then as he let go of the buggy and walked towards her.  "Here...let me help you with that," he softly called out to her so as not to startle her.  But a foreign voice she hadn't expected to hear DID scare her, causing her head to fly up and stare at him as some more water splashed out of the pail.

 

"Child, what good is it to go fetch water if you're going to spill it all before you get to the house?" the woman standing on the porch scolded her.  "You're such a good-for-nothin' thing! Git in here and start on the dishes!" she demanded harshly, her hands on her waist.

 

At last, the girl lifted her head to peer into Fletcher's eyes, and the detective couldn't help the half-smile that appeared on his lips.  Molly's brother had done an amazing job of sketching her.  Even with her disheveled appearance and her dirty hair and skin, there was no doubt in his mind who he was looking at.  "Molly?" he addressed her quietly as he took the heavy pail from her and placed it on the frozen ground. 

 

The girl eyed him suspiciously.  She had never seen a man dressed so fancy before.  "Who...who are you?"  She whispered, wrapping her well-worn, tattered dress against her thin body.  "How do you know my name?" 

 

Fletcher could feel all eyes on him as he stooped down to speak to her, softly so that no one else could hear them.  "I know your brother," he told her as her eyes grew wide in shock. 

 

"You know Justin?  Truly?  How could you know him?" 

 

Fletcher reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper he had been entrusted with; the one piece of evidence he had to prove that he knew of which he spoke.  He opened up the paper to turn it around, so the girl could see it. 

 

"Your brother drew this, Molly.  He misses you terribly.  I've come to take you back with me to Pittsburgh." 

 

Molly immediately believed her brother had drawn the sketch; she knew his style intimately.  Her eyes welled with tears and her mouth hung open as she stared at her brother's rendition of her, hope swelling inside her.  Memories flooded through her mind as she exclaimed, "Justin!  I want to see him!  Please!" 

 

"What are you two yammering about?" Miller yelled harshly before Molly could speak further.  "This one has chores to do, and time's awastin'! So just state your purpose for bein' here, and then get off my land!"  He reached back down to retrieve his shotgun, cradling it once more against his chest.

 

A cow mooed nearby in the barn as Fletcher placed his hand on Molly's shoulder, feeling the petite body trembling under his touch.  He suspected it was more out of fear than the bitter cold - or perhaps both.  There was obviously no love shown toward her from these two people.  She was more like property to them.  "I've come to offer you a deal, Mr. Miller.  One that you can't turn down." 

 

Miller scoffed.  "Is that right? Well, I'd say that's for ME to decide!  What _sort_ of deal?  We don't have anything that you would want!" 

 

"Oh, but you do," the detective responded as he walked closer to the porch with Molly, keeping his hand protectively on her shoulder.  "I've come to offer you a trade, if you will.  One that will mean a big change in you and your wife's lives."  He gazed down at the young girl beside him, praying this would work.  "Stay right there," he told her softly, as he abruptly turned and headed back to the buggy.  Retrieving a buckskin leather satchel, he walked past Molly toward the couple still glowering at him. 

 

"Don't come any further," Miller warned him, gripping his shotgun firmly.  "Or it will be the last step you take.   Girl, git in this house...NOW!" 

 

Fletcher held up his free hand as he beseeched them, "No!  Wait!  My business involves _her_!"  He peered over at the slip of a girl, noticing the frightened look on her face.  A silent plea was clearly written there; one born from desperation, but also hope.  It made Fletcher even more determined to succeed. 

 

"What in the tarnation are you talking about?" Miller retorted harshly.  He motioned toward Molly standing near the detective.  "She's not worth the land she's standing on!" 

 

Tears started to stream down the girl's face as she hugged herself to try and stay warm.  "I hate it here!" she wailed at Miller.  "And I hate YOU! I want my brother!"

 

"Is that right?" the farmer responded sharply.  "Well, your brother ain't here!  Looks like someone needs the switch again. And this time I won't spare the rod!" 

 

"If I may..." Fletcher interjected, trying to stay calm but finding it near to impossible.

 

"I'm not interested in any deal with you!" Miller interrupted him.

 

Fletcher sighed heavily in annoyance.  "Even if it involves money?  Lots of money?"  He had to get this child out of here at any cost. His client had given him the ability to do just that.  He had advised Brian that it didn't feel ethical to ‘buy' someone in this way, but he had changed his mind.  "Mr. Miller, I am prepared to offer you more money than you would ever see in your lifetime."

 

Miller's eyes widened slightly despite his scoff.  "Sure...and I'm Santa Claus.  Now git!" 

 

"Mac!" his wife interrupted as Miller raised his gun toward the other man.  "Let's listen to what he has to say!  She's not much good anyway; we'd git more work out of a three-legged horse and a plow," she added disdainfully.  As it stood, any plowing of their crops had to be done with their old wooden plow and her husband walking along behind it; it was backbreaking work, but the girl wasn't strong enough to do it.  "Besides...you're the one with the gun." 

 

Miller huffed.  "And how do I know he's not totin' one in that bag of his?" 

 

Molly stood frozen where she stood, her tears slowly drying on her cheeks as she listened to their conversation, trying desperately not to hope there may be a way out of her predicament.  Since coming to the Miller farm, from the first day she arrived they had worked her like a dog.  Her calloused, chapped hands felt cold as ice as she stood there, trying to keep herself warm, but knowing it was fruitless.  She would be a bit warmer inside the house, but she daren't move from her position near the stranger who might...just might...be her savior.  Besides, there was no other warmth inside the house; not anything even approaching love or caring.  She had almost forgotten what that meant.  Even inside the orphanage, she had never experienced this sort of isolation.  She watched as Fletcher slowly started to approach the other man with the bag in his hand. 

 

Miller didn't divert from his defensive position as he warily watched the stranger come toward him.  "Slowly," he warned him.  "And no reaching inside your pockets, either." 

 

Fletcher swallowed, finding himself a bit nervous with the barrel of a shotgun staring at him.  "I won't," he assured him, his voice shaking slightly.  He cleared his throat to compose himself.  "I'm going to open this bag - slowly - so you can see what is inside." 

 

"No!" Miller shouted.  "Bring it here and set it on the porch.  I'll open it."  Fletcher did as he was told, walking up to the porch and placing the unopened bag down on the edge of it, noticing how the slats must have been a light blue color at one time; looking at the condition now, however, it must have been years ago.  He nodded up at the older man as Miller lifted the barrel slightly upward to indicate that he needed to move farther away, which he did. 

 

"Take a look see, woman," the farmer told his spouse.  His wife reached down and paused momentarily before she grasped the handles of the satchel and picked it up, hesitating as she held it in her hands.  "Well, open it! We ain't got all day!  It's colder than kraut out here!  Hurry up!" 

 

The woman rolled her eyes as she opened the bag and let out an audible gasp.  "Lord have mercy!  Look at this!" she exclaimed, tilting the bag so her husband could see it.  "It's full of money, Lucas!" she told him, using his given name.  "More than I've ever seen!"  The bag was filled with stacks upon stacks of 100-dollar bills.  "He's tellin' the truth!"  She peered down at their visitor in awe.  "Where did you git all this money?" she asked him.

 

Noticing Molly shaking in the cold, Fletcher walked over and slid out of his coat, placing it around her shoulders.  "Here...hold onto this," he told her.  He knew he had taken a chance by moving, but he wasn't about to let this girl freeze to death, either.  His voice rose as he responded, "My client gave it to me in exchange for her freedom.  With that, you can buy anything you could possibly need... new farming equipment and more help - strong field hands who can do twice or four or five times what she could do." 

 

Miller's eyes darted between Molly, the money, and Fletcher as his wife whispered something to him.  "Looks like your harvest was good this year, but I know you've seen a lot of drought here," Fletcher continued, forcing himself to keep his voice even.  "And I can tell you're a smart man.  Now, please...it's very cold out here.  What do you say?" 

 

Miller shook his head in shock as he stared over at the detective.  "All this for that good-for-nothin' girl?  Why?" 

 

Fletcher kept his hand on Molly's shoulder, feeling her trembling violently now.  "Because she's worth a lot to someone who loves her...her brother.  I won't get into the details about where the money came from...does it really matter?  So, what do you say, Mr. Miller?  Do we have a deal?" 

 

Miller rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his hand as he looked once more into the bag.  Reaching inside, he rifled through a few stacks, making sure they were all one-hundred-dollar bills as he replied, "You know, I could just take this money AND the girl," he commented.  There was a pregnant, agonizing pause between all of them, the sound of a few livestock and other animals heard, before he finally spoke again.  "Take her," he said.  "She's worth nothin' to us."

 

"But..."

 

"Hush, woman!  I make the decisions here!  You can do her chores until we can find someone else!  Besides, there's another orphan train comin' in soon.  We'll find you another one who's not as worn out."  Miller's wife pursed her lips tightly together in disagreement, but remained silent, knowing better than to argue with him.  "Now leave before I change my mind and keep her anyway!" 

 

Fletcher didn't have to be told twice as he nodded and quickly turned Molly around to gently push her toward the buggy.  "Come on," he told her as he helped her into the seat.  He hoisted himself up beside her as he grabbed a couple of wool blankets from the floor.  "Let's go," he told the driver forcefully, not daring to look back at the couple whose eyes were watching their every move.  There was a slight lurch as the driver yelled "Yah!" and the horses began to move.  As they drove away, Molly turned to stare over at her benefactor, almost unable to believe what was happening.  "Are you really taking me to my brother?"  She had no way of knowing what this man's intentions were, but something about his demeanor and the care he had shown her reassured her. 

 

Fletcher smiled with a nod as he draped one of the blankets around the young girl, including her head.  "Yes, Molly, I am.  I'm sorry we couldn't take any of your things with you.  But I thought it was best we leave quickly." 

 

Molly shook her head.  "There was nothing to take.  The only thing I'm leaving there are bad memories."  She had dreamed for so long of this day - a day when she could escape the everlasting hell she had been cast into.  Now it appeared at last that the day had come. 

 

Fletcher tucked the blanket tighter against her thin body.  "Well, from now on, all those memories will be replaced with good ones.  You wait and see," he told her gently as the buggy continued on its journey back into town.  He let out a deep sigh of relief as he turned his head to see the farmhouse slowly growing smaller and smaller in the distance, the two occupants now long gone inside, no doubt to escape from the cold.  "You'll see," he repeated softly as he watched her nod her head and place it against his shoulder.

 


End file.
